


Worst-Laid Plans

by Cavaticarose



Series: Damn Few, and They're All Dead [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-ish, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, POV First Person, PoC, Renegon (Mass Effect), Ruthless (Mass Effect), Spacer (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 129,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavaticarose/pseuds/Cavaticarose
Summary: Shepard has always been a bit of a jerk, but is she willing to deal with the corruption that the Alliance, Cerberus, and the Council have to offer? On top of that, she lost two years, her crew has frigate-sized head issues, but as Kasumi puts it, "life finds a way."Complete!





	1. Prologue - Ambition, Failure, The Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus doesn't really get the mourning process.

**Garrus**  


Humans often debate when one becomes a man. Some say it's taking a life, others will say creating life, falling in love, or countless other milestones. Turian culture is free of these ambiguities. Turn fifteen, grab a gun, and make your father proud. After your tenure, contribute to the Hierarchy, and make your father proud. As trite as it sounds, I didn't understand the human sentiment until I departed the _Normandy_ , ready to start a life I could call my own.

At the time I felt amazing. I'd worked with a Spectre, fought battles across the galaxy, and received a hero's welcome back on the Citadel. Seeing a different style of operation, one where we could do and judge as we saw fit inspired me. It was completely different from life in C-SEC, and I loved every minute of it. After little deliberation, I applied for Spectre candidacy in my own right, determined to forge my own path.

The required recommendation came from a person I never expected to be friends with. If I were sentimental about it, I'd liken the bond to that of the _Normandy_ itself; a seamless integration of turian form with human innovation. Another big picture person, willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. To do what was right. Had I been human I would say that meeting her, not the turian military, was when I became an adult.

Silly words now. The hero's welcome became clogged with politics. People proved quick to forget tragedy when a celebrity scandal is easier to digest. Nothing was more frustrating than Council indifference even as Tayseri Ward burned. Or as she put it "white-washing of history, as per fucking usual." I never bothered to ask what that meant, since I figured she'd explain in person once she returned from the useless Council assignment.

She never did.

I remember seeing Kaidan in the vids, refusing to answer news reporter al-Jilani's frantic attacks. Liara, a downright mess, crying in the same way humans cried. And Joker, broken and devastated, muttering that it was his fault.

The entire ground squad attended the service, a spectacle about as diplomatic and sterile as every other military across the galaxy can be. Funny how that was another thing all species had in common. Gone were the stories of her being an acerbic wit, an amazing Skyllian Five player, or even a harsh combatant. Instead it was just Spectre. Torfan. Human. A mere template of the person behind the commander.

After that, the Council could say anything they wanted with no one to stop them. When I protested, they made it clear that I'd be trading my rants for Spectre status, and forced me to choose. And what choice did I really have? After I saw and fought the evidence head on, when I saw for myself Ilos, Vigil, Sovereign, and well... _her_.

And in truth, a part of me wanted to fight in my own way. So when an old C-SEC buddy said they had to let go of another bastard, my mind went straight to Saleon, the butcher she helped me hunt down. To her, for letting me take matters into my own hands. To all the cases lost where a criminal got away and came back to cause more havoc. I followed the trail doggedly until I showed up here.

Deep down I didn't want to let go.

At first it was a perfect fit. No overhead to deal with, and I could exact my own justice in this filthy dump. I pretended that making a difference was the reason why I was here. I truly believed it once, thinking I could clean up this place until they didn't need me anymore. As the notion became more of a fool's errand, my feelings got the better of me. Every drug lord became Saleon. Every merc became Saren. Every kingpin became the Council. And for every one of them I became a living hell.

Oddly enough, it's to her my thoughts go now. Her I guess because I never really got the overwhelming loss the rest of the old crew felt. And I felt worse that I couldn't feel _anything_. But maybe feeling nothing was a something all along. Much as I'd hate to admit it, it took me losing my whole squad to feel so shattered. I look across the base, each station now lifeless and abandoned, and wonder which is objectively better. To be the last one standing as I am now, or be like her, sacrificing self to save the rest. If it wasn't for the void she left behind, I'd say she did the right thing.


	2. I Woke Up Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroine learns that while death has a refund policy, Cerberus doesn't.

**Shepard**

“Wak–”

I wake up hearing familiar sounds. Shouts. Alarms. Gunfire.

 “Get up… Shepard”

_Wait, gunfire?_

If I didn't know any better, I could have sworn I heard someone yelling my name over gunfire.

"–mander, please get up! You have to get out of here!"

Crap. My brain is on fire with a headache the size of Kilimanjaro. I try to open my eyes, but it's going too slow. Can I move? Dammit, everything is slow and getting louder... what happened?

"Commander you need to get moving! This facility is under attack!"

"Ju…" My throat’s too dry to respond. I struggle to move, and it feels like my muscles are crawling off me. Eyes are finally cooperating. A...hospital? No, lab. Ok. I remember...

No.

No, I remember. Screaming. Joker. The blast. But where…am I? Alliance? My ship was attacked. The _Normandy_ was ran through right before my eyes. Kaidan, my… he made the distress call. I didn’t it make it to the pod. I didn’t make it.

"Commander I need you to get moving! This place is under attack! Grab a gun and some armor in the weapon cabinet behind you!"

I crane my head behind me. Weapon cabinet, check. Who the fuck is this broad? "Who...fuck are you?" I manage.

"Oh I don’t know, just a person looking out for your best interests! Now please move already!"

Ok. Think. I will my arms to move, snatching off electrodes in the process, and sure enough the going’s a little easier. I stumble off the operating table, and head towards the gun case. Just an omni-tool and a damn pistol. Never been a favorite, but it'll do.

"Status report, uh...whoever you are? What the hell am I dealing with out there?"

"Mechs, Commander. Someone hacked into the IFF and they're attacking everyone in their path. I'm clearing out a way from my end, but for now we can only communicate by comm."

Figures. I do a few test stretches and prepare to open the door. As I get my bearings unease hits me that goes beyond waking up to a firefight. Something about this place doesn't sit right. That logo, a stylized O nested between two prongs is familiar, but I haven't put my finger on it. It'll come to me, I'm sure.

I open the door and immediately gun down every synthetic in my path. The models look newer, stark white and humanoid, but at least they aren't self-aware, not like the geth. Under cover, I check the omni-tool I grabbed to see if it has anything familiar. There’s a basic overloading program, my favorite against synths, but I’ll need to tweak it later. Another program with an armor interface. I’ve never heard of it, but I'll try anything once. I activate the program, and a holographic armor covers my chest, arms and legs. The engineer side of my heart skips a beat.

_This is a little fancy for Alliance._

For giggles I test my biotics against one of the mechs. Still there, but way too draining for me to use now.

I look ahead. The facility is brightly lit. Not the cheerful warm light of the Presidium, but a sterile, white on white sharpness that sets my teeth on edge. There’s a long corridor where more overly polite mechs lumber about. The lab where I came from must be a dead end to this section. Wherever I am, I was sequestered off from the rest of this place.

I take more synths down, firing off the overload program as I shoot. The voice on the comm continues to bark orders, warning me about mechs and guiding me where to go. This points to either a high amount of security cameras or a tracking chip. Or both.

I shake off the thought and go in an elevator per the woman’s instructions. Once I get to the next floor, I see my first real person in the facility. Some tall, wide-shouldered, deep-skinned guy in the type of fighting stance only found in the Alliance. He looks a bit like a cousin of mine if I squint, and the poor guy’s got an unhealthy amount of robots on him.

I duck and weave towards him. As I get closer, I see the same insignia on his uniform. It finally hits me.

Cerberus.

_Aw, fuck! No no no no no._

I, if I can even call myself that anymore, just woke up chock full of electrodes and fluids in a goddamn Cerberus lab. Fuck! All I remember is dying, I should've been dead from that crash, and knowing these lunatics, I’m probably injected with krogan blood, or worse. _Fuck!_

Cerberus is and always will be a stain on humanity’s reputation as the worst offenders of galactic war crimes. More pro-human and anti-alien than Terra Firma, which is saying something. Their idea of the scientific method was steal as many bodies as possible, run experiments against their will, and steal more bodies just to be sure. Me and my ground squad made a damn hobby out of blowing up Cerberus facilities, especially since each lab was more cartoonishly evil than the last.

This is not a good day.

I scramble to the soldier. He’d better have some answers or he gets a bullet to the brain.

“Shit, Shepard, they have _you_ out here fighting? It must be worse than I thought.”

“Mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

“You mean these mechs? Because they just turned crazy on us.”

“No, the part where I woke up in a Cerberus lab with some shrew giving me orders.”

“Ahh,” the man winces. He fires off a few shots and launches a biotic attack. “Miranda’s alive, then. Listen, I’ll give you the short version.” He ducks back under cover and gives me a level look. “You died, two years ago now. You were nothing but meat and tubes, but Cerberus brought you back. We called it the Lazarus Project. We gotta evacuate now before we get overrun with these guys.”

“Two years. You’ve gotta be fucking joking.”

“No ma’am. Took about four billion credits and all our top scientists to bring you back, including Miranda. Too bad this is your welcome committee.”

Shit. Dead, for two years. I can’t even begin to process this. This is impossible, what the hell did they do to me. Two years. A Cerberus experiment for two years, and I _died_. I was dead and now I’m a god damn Frankenstein.

_Breathe._

“And who’re you?” I ask.

“Jacob Taylor, ma’am. Former Alliance, if that helps any.”

“You know, it kinda does. Ok Taylor,” I breath slowly. “Let’s finish off these assholes and get the hell out of here.”

 

**~*~**

 

I look down at the slumped body formerly known as Wilson, then at the leggy brunette that just dispatched him. He’d had it coming. Was explaining his motives too much, like he was dress-rehearsing his first real alibi. He probably _did_ set off the robots in the facility, and betrayed all the hard-working terrorists that brought me back to life. But it’s one less operative I would have killed anyway.

She had the same affected Australian voice from the comms, so she must be Miranda. Which means she’s the lead scientist that brought me back, and was trying to save me. But fuck if I can’t trust her or anyone here right now. After a round of questions, she states that we’d be better off meeting with the Illusive Man for answers.

“What if I don’t want to go?” I ask firmly.

“Then you get to be stranded fighting off the rest of the mechs.” She gives me a smug, appraising look.

“Fuck. Fine. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We climb into the shuttle, and soon the facility becomes a distant memory. Jacob settles in, fairly relaxed all things considered. Miranda whips out a datapad and starts scanning me with her omni-tool.

“Before we meet with the Illusive Man, I’ll need to ask you a few questions to test your cognizance and long-term memory. We would’ve had more time,” she says bitterly, “but the circumstances changed.”

Jacob groans at this. “Do we even have to? I saw her fight and she hates _us_ , she’s the real deal.”

“And if that’s all it took, then great! The mind has to be just as sharp or we’ve failed, don’t you get it? Commander, would you be able to oblige?” She looks at me expectantly with frost-blue eyes.

“Sure. Screw it. Not like I have any pressing appointments right now. Being dead has a way of cancelling them.” Jacob snickers at this until Miranda’s icy glare shuts him up.

So she asks me questions. About my mom, growing up on ships, about Torfan, about Ashley, the squad mate I left behind. All the while I’m trying to size them up, see if I could take them out and commandeer the shuttle. I decide against it with a sigh. Whatever the hell is going on, it seemed important enough to bring me back to life. And if they _did_ plant a tracking chip in me, my getaway cruise would be cut short. In other words, I needed answers.

Lazarus Project. Two years, just gone.

“It seems like you’re mentally fit and capable,” Miranda states crisply. “I just hope the Illusive Man thinks so as well.”

The rest of the shuttle ride is silent, leaving me with my own thoughts. My last memory before this was getting spaced. Not everyone made it out of the crash but I was able to pile Liara in. Kaidan, stubborn as always, made it through. I sealed Joker in myself, and then the blast. Christ. It’s been two years and twelve days since then. I need to find them, see where they are.

Not the best train of thought to get me in a good mood.

Meeting with the Illusive Man isn’t much better. I spend about half the time unnerved by his eyes, pronged somehow and slightly glowing, while he gives me the rundown. Billions of credits spent. Cybernetic upgrades to my body. Reaper threat. War. He briefs me on the current state of affairs, and urges me to check out Freedom’s Progress, one of the human colonies recently attacked. He says, insists even, that the Reapers may be behind the abductions. I don’t believe it. I can’t afford to not believe it, though. Reluctantly, I agree.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Human colonies are disappearing in the Terminus systems, and no one’s lifting a finger about it. It’s outside of Council or Alliance space, but if the numbers are right, no one should ignore this. I can’t believe that Cerberus of all organizations are the only ones investigating something so critical. I can’t believe that Cerberus is the only one playing ball here.

“Shouldn’t you be working with the Alliance on this, if the threat is this real? Or the Council?” I ask. Deep inside, I already know the answer. The Council had me after geth instead of investigating what the Protheans left behind. The Alliance was still recovering from Sovereign’s attack at the time. But surely they had to get involved _somehow_.

“They aren’t answering the real threat. They blame pirates or slavers rather than treat it seriously. It has to be us. It has to be you.”

As I step back out, I heave a sigh, and look around. Miranda is fussing about on a terminal, and Jacob is looking outward, seemingly anxious to get back out and see some action. I guess this is it. This is my supposed crew to gather proof, and who’s even to say that I’m not getting duped somewhere in all of this?

I approach Miranda first. She at least saved my life. She’s a tall, pale, attractive woman. Not exactly slight of build, but not the body of a soldier, either. She wears an impractical skindex suit, a type of reinforced under armor that allows for better movement at the expense of looking underdressed.

“He seems impressed. I hope you can live up to what’s expected of you,” she says, not looking up from her screen. Looks like we’re off to a great start.

“Same goes for you, Lawson. Remember who’s in charge here. Any mission I run, I need to know my crew can follow orders.”

“I know my duties, but I also know your record. As long as you don’t do anything to compromise Cerberus, I’ll do what you say.” She gives me a cold stare. “Now if you’re finished, we can depart from here whenever you’re ready.” She jerks her head back to the console, clearly indicating that the conversation is over.

I walk over to Jacob next. He moves into a parade rest on my approach, every bit the type of soldier I’d seen in the Alliance. He seems earnest at least, and he fought well. He might be trustworthy; the Illusive Man himself said that Jacob was wary of him. Ok guy or not, he picked a shitty employer.

“I’m glad the Illusive Man convinced you to give us a chance,” he says.

“Cerberus gets one shot at this. The billions in credits, I owe at least that.”

“But you’re not convinced. I get that. For what it’s worth, I hope you know you can trust me. It’s just words for you, but I’ll make sure I earn that trust.” He then starts to fidget a little under my stare.

“I’m glad you get that, Taylor. You said you were in the Alliance. What made you join Cerberus?”

“Honestly? I joined because I was tired of not making a difference. After what happened at the Citadel Battle, I thought that we would finally start stepping up. But it turned out to be the same damn politics and no progress to show for it. Cerberus doesn’t expect you to fill out endless paperwork or form committees to investigate missing colonists. You just pack up and go.”

“Huh. You remind me of an old friend of mine. He never liked red tape, either.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, ma’am.” His face gives the faintest hint of a smile, the kind where I know he really wants to stay stoic to impress. I think he’ll be ok.

“Ok you two, grab your gear and let’s move out! We’ve got a colony to investigate,” I call out. I watch as Miranda finishes up on the console, and Jacob heads towards the weapon locker.

_Time to get this show on the road._


	3. The Price of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard investigates the missing colonists.

**Shepard**

When we step out of the shuttle, all at once we’re hit with the feeling of a situation gone pear-shaped. The only sound I can hear is the quiet hum of the shuttle powering down, wind hitting the prefab walls, and my teammates breathing over the comm. There’s no one in sight. Lights are still on, offering a false cheeriness against the night sky.

We cautiously make our way around the colony Freedom’s Progress, peering in at the still open doors of the structures. On the ground are loose papers, scattered toys, an abandoned dinner complete with half-drunk wine. Not even an alarm sounds off. It feels like an intrusion.

“How long has this been happening?” I whisper, the sound of our footsteps hammering against the silence.

“Too long if you ask me,” Jacob answers, just as subdued.

We continue through another set of buildings, searching through datapads for last messages sent, video feeds, anything to get a clue about whatever’s going on. Nothing. Before spaceflight kids would trade scary stories about alien abductions, and after the First Contact that practice evolved to batarian pirates, turian military, or slavers banging down doors. My mom told more than a few to keep me on good behavior, until I was old enough to want to be like her and fight them. This though.

We’re out in the Terminus. Any colonist worth their salt would be armed coming out here, and most planets have at least some kind of militia. They know that they aren’t protected by Alliance or Council space, and most prefer it that way. Those types wouldn’t go down to slavers without a fight. Here, we’ve been through six different buildings already and there’s no sign of a struggle. No ripped doors, no bullet holes, no fires. Nothing.

I step outside of another building. Everything still looks and smells fresh, so that rules out plague. Besides that, there are no bodies. When I scan the perimeter, some movement finally catches my eye. I motion to Jacob and Miranda to take cover, and I use my visor to check for any life.

No life. Just mechs. Nothing unusual.

They fire at us.

 _Shit_.

“Take them out!” I yell, firing off an overload. Miranda immediately follows suit with her own, and I launch a volley of biotic orbs. We’re able to dispatch the synthetics quickly, but the encounter doesn’t sit well with me. Miranda voices my unease.

“If those things had been active before the colonists disappeared, then we’d see more signs of struggle. Someone’s already here.”

I nod. “Agreed. They would’ve recognized us as human. Someone set it to attack anyone. We don’t know who we’re dealing with, but they’re likely scared shitless. Which is dangerous in and of itself. Stay on guard, and move out.”

We run into more rogue mechs during the exploration. Luckily not too many, though we were on edge from still not finding anyone living. We approach a building, and I finally start to hear faint murmurs on the other side of the door, though my ears and memory let me know they were distinctly not human. I take point and signal the others to cover me.

When I open the door, I see three quarians huddled around a console. On seeing me, the larger male scrambles for his gun and trains it on me. Instinctually I aim for his head, but stop myself from shooting.

“Stop right there!” He warns, his companion close behind aiming at Miranda. The third immediately runs up, forcing the male’s gun down.

“Prazza, stop! Let me handle this,” a familiar voice yells.

I swallow hard. “…Tali?”

“Shepard! Keelah, I…you’re alive?”

“They’re Cerberus! I’m not taking any chances, Tali!” The quarian, Prazza, tries to raise his gun towards me again.

“Drop your weapon, Prazza. I’m warning you,” Tali says with a cold venom I’d never associate with the young pilgrim I remember. She turns back to me, and the glow of her eyes behind the helmet seem to scan me and my companions. “He has a point, though. Shepard would have to have a good reason to work for Cerberus. Are you the real deal?”

I look at the enviro-suited woman and the familiar cock of the hip and side-turned head, an almost universal gesture of curiosity. I can only recognize her voice and body language because of the damn suits they wear, but this _is_ Tali. This is the genius girl I spent late nights with working over tech.

“Tali, you know me. Remember those geth parts I gave you for the pilgrimage? Better yet,” I flash her a wry leer. “You’ve got a helluva poker face, but not nearly as good as mine. And you hate me pressing big red buttons.”

“ _Keelah._ It _is_ you. I can’t believe it.” Her eyes disappear for a second, then come back brighter.

“Why is she working for Cerberus, then?” Prazza spits.

Before Tali can respond, I answer. “I’m investigating the missing colonists, and they’re supposedly the only organization that seems to give a damn. Tali, they brought me back from the brink for this. It’s that big of a deal.”

“You can’t honestly trust all this, trust Cerberus!” I know he has a point, but Prazza’s quickly climbing the ranks of being my biggest pain in the ass.

“I trust Shepard. If that’s not good enough for you, go back to the ship,” Tali says firmly. “We may be able to help each other. We’re looking for a pilgrim, Veetor. He’s still down here somewhere, and he was the one that set off all those mechs. He may be able to tell you what happened down here, but he can be…ah. Nervous.”

Great.

“Ok,” I say, reactivating my visor. “We find this guy, see if he knows anything, and blast a bunch of mechs on the way. Tali, if you and your men can draw fire, we’ll see if we can take out some of the mechs from the other side.”

“Deal. Ready whenever you are.”

**~*~**

Not sure why I’d be surprised that a YMIR mech, possibly the largest of the oddly Norse-themed models is even on this rock, but here we are. I can’t say that I regret the loss of dear Prazza either. Not only was he a mouthy son of a bosh’tet, he also completely ignored Tali’s orders and got curb-stomped in the process. I understand Tali’s anguish over losing good soldiers, but that’s the reality of being a woman in command. If quarians are anything like humans, she’ll lose more men from pride alone before this is all done.

With the mech gone, I leave Tali to tend to the wounded and search the rest of the prefabs for Veetor. Logic said he’d be close, since the YMIR would offer the most protection. When I reach the last building, the interface is jammed. Not just locked, but crudely hacked. I run some code against it, and recognize it as one of the little brainteasers Tali would hit me with back on the SR1. Lucky for me, since I wouldn’t be able to bypass quarian hacks without her. For the first time today, I crack a real smile.

The door opens.

Inside, I see a wall of security monitors, all showing different locations of the colony. The room is dim save for the dusty orange glow from the screens. In the center, seemingly dwarfed, sat a mumbling mess of a quarian. He didn’t seem to hear us approach. Or hear me call his name. Or well, anything.

“No Veetor here. Safe from swarms. No no no no no.”

 _Bet he can hear this_.

I shoot one of the monitors, just near his line of sight. This startles a girlish yelp out of him, but snaps him out of his panicked stupor. I glance at Miranda, who’s on her omni-tool no doubt typing ‘impulse control issues’ in her next report to the Illusive Man. Veetor finally gets up, seeing us clearly for the first time.

“You’re human. They didn’t find you? How did you escape? Where did you hide? I–”

“Hey! Calm down, we just got here. We’re here to investigate the missing colonists. Can you tell us what you know?”

“Who didn’t find us, Veetor?” Miranda presses.

“Them. The monsters. The swarms. I see them. I see everything.” His hand goes back to the console, trembling the whole way. The monitors come to life with a new image. Insect-like robot drones flood the security feeds. When they dissipate, containers full of lifeless people are getting carted off. A new feed. More swarms, this time descending on a panicked family, immobilizing them. Their faces are stuck in an unfinished scream. A new feed. Another cart, but this time a clearer view of who, or _what_ is wheeling it. It looks to be bipedal, large fan-shaped head, four glowing eyes.

“What _is_ that?” The question escapes my lips.

“I…I think it might be a Collector,” Miranda states, just as astonished.

“What’s a Collector?”

“We’re not sure,” Jacob says. “Few people have ever actually seen them. All we know is that they come from the Omega 4 relay. No one’s ever come back from there except for Collectors.”

“They usually work with pirates and slavers. They’ll trade weapons and technology for species with unusual genetic traits. Left-handed salarians, pure quarians, human biotics, and the like.” Miranda taps into the feeds, pausing on a shot of several incapacitated colonists. “They’ve never targeted any species to this degree. We’re talking from maybe a dozen to tens of thousands,” she continues. “And take a look at this.”

I look closer at the screen she paused at, and rewind. Near as I can tell, the insect-like robots attack the colonists, but they seem to only freeze them, not kill them. As I move forward in the feed, the Collectors almost gingerly cart them away. No other sign of damage. “It’s like a venom, or stasis field,” I murmur. “Veetor. Can you tell us what happened after they attacked?”

“They carted them off. Took them on the ship. All of them. They were all frozen. Frozen! Then they flew away.”

“That’s hardly useful.” Miranda snaps. “We’ll need to calm him down before we take him in for further interrogation.”

“You will do no such thing!” Tali, all ninety pounds of fury, stomps toward us. “We spent all this time looking for him, and I lost good soldiers. Shepard, if you think I’m going to just hand him over to these _bosh'tets_ , then you’re out of your mind!” She points angrily at Jacob and Miranda.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Nobody’s going anywhere yet.” I say. “He’s a witness but we’re not going to get anywhere by just carting him off, Miranda. You said it yourself, we need him calm. Tali, is there any way you can come with us? You might be a soothing factor for him.”

“I’m sorry, Shepard. I...I have other responsibilities now, and I just can’t abandon them. Especially not for Cerberus,” she finishes, venom back in her voice. “I can’t make any promises right now. Maybe...” She sighs. “Nevermind. Shepard, I’m sorry.”

I try to hide how crestfallen I feel. “Tali, it’s ok. I understand. You’re not just on the outside looking in these days, are you?” She nods slowly and ducks her head down ever so slightly. “You’ll be fine. I’m not taking Veetor anywhere. Keep him safe. Just promise me that if you find anything else out, you’ll let me know.”

“I can do that. And here.” She waves her omni-tool over Veetor, then at me. “I’ve forwarded his data over to you. It’s the least I can do. And Shepard, please be careful.”

“Commander, are you sure about this? It would be prudent to bring him in for questioning,” Miranda says. “We might miss something vital.”

“I’m sure. Don’t second-guess me.” I give her my best glare to emphasize my point.

“Thank you, Shepard. I won’t forget this. Keelah se'lai.”

**~*~**

We pile back into the shuttle in stony silence. Running into Tali was mere chance, but it had me wondering about the rest of my team. She was like a little sister to me by the end; brilliant, fierce, loyal. Working by her, hearing her on my comm again, it felt right. I didn’t like the reaction at first, but it was understandable. She was there when I was blowing up Cerberus labs, so seeing me working with them has to be jarring. I don’t know if I can hold out much hope for her joining me on this. But I know she’s out there at least.

I should have asked her if she stayed in contact with everyone else. Liara and Kaidan stayed with me on the _Normandy_ , so what of them? I know that Kaidan would likely stay with the Alliance if he could help it. Would he be willing to follow me? And would Liara come back as well? _You don’t even know if they’re alive._

Wrex I remember booked passage to Tuchanka. He might still be there, and worth visiting. He was hard-hitting, and we respected each other by the time Saren went down. Garrus should be in Spectre training, if not one in his own right by now. That would be fun, at least. If he still hates red tape as much as I do and Jacob does, then he might team up as well.

Once at the station, I immediately go back to the briefing room to report our findings. The scanner clouds over me, and I see the shimmering holo image of the Illusive Man.

“Shepard. Good work on Freedom’s Progress. No updates from the quarians, but we appreciate the cooperation they showed. More importantly, you were able to confirm the Collector threat. This helps a great deal moving forward.”

“You don’t sound surprised. Did you already know Collectors were behind the abductions?”

“We were suspicious, but we’ve only now confirmed it. Miranda and Jacob have already briefed you on what we know about them, and your findings on Freedom’s Progress gives us a game plan. You’ll need a team to stop the Collectors and the Reaper threat.”

“Hang on a second. The Collectors are one thing, but how does it tie in with the Reapers? I hate to go Council on you, but I don’t see the connection.”

“Think about it, Shepard. The Collectors before now only did small abductions, usually no more than a dozen, spaced out for several years. This is tens of thousands, and only after you stopped Sovereign. The Collectors are targeting humans and they’re working with the Reapers.”

“Compelling. But I had a team of my own. I’d rather you use your resources to find them.” There’s gotta be a way to get them back.

The Illusive Man takes a long drag from his cigarette and regards me with those damn glowing eyes. “We’ve tried. Shepard, you must understand that two years have passed. Your crew has either moved on or dropped off the grid.”

“What’s your intel?”

“Kaidan Alenko is still with the Alliance, but his records are classified. Liara T’Soni is on Illium, and our sources indicate dealings with the Shadow Broker. Her motives would be suspect. Garrus Vakarian went off the grid several months after your death. Wrex is on Tuchanka and hasn’t been off-world in over a year. Our intel indicates that he’s had moderate success with uniting the krogan clans. And Tali was an unexpected find. We’ll keep an eye on her, but you will need to be the one to convince her.” His hologram looks at me pointedly. “And from the report, it looks like the first time wasn’t the charm.”

Oof. I hate to say it, but he’s right. If I could convince her, I would have already. And the same could be said for the rest of them if the opportunity comes. But I have to try.

“Fine. Give me your list. I’ll work with what I have for now.”

“Already forwarded,” he says smugly. “I recommend contacting the scientist Mordin Solus on Omega. I’m sure he’ll have a way to counteract the seeker venom. This will be vital if you’re going to take on Collector forces.”

“If those are my barking orders, then I should go.”

“For what it’s worth, Shepard,” his hologram smiles, “You’ll like your pilot. I hear he’s one of the best. Signing off.”

The hologram shimmers out, and I hear distinctly uneven footsteps approach me.

“Hey Commander,” Joker grins. “Just like old times, huh?”

**~*~**

Had it not been for the laboratory firefight, the Lazerus revelation, the deserted colony, and friendships hanging by a thread, I _might’ve_ been pissed at seeing Joker. The memory of dragging his stubborn ass to the escape pod was still fresh, hell raw. But seeing his familiar grin, short cut beard and baseball cap, green eyes tired, but alive…damn. And he looks just so damn happy to see me. Cerberus didn’t. Tali couldn’t. But this felt genuine.

I crack my second smile on this long day.

“Joker! What are you doing here?”

“I could say the same, you know. They said you wouldn’t be up for another four months.” He beckons towards a corridor, and I match his stride.

“You know me, I’m just an early riser.”

“Pfft, that’s not true, you just never sleep.” Joker snorts. “Hell, I bet they had a hard time keeping you down in the lab.”

I think about that for a second. Now that he mentions it, I did have a fuzzy memory of something just before the lab shootout. Oh well.

“So you knew about the lab, then. You didn’t answer my question. Why’re _you_ with Cerberus?”

“Aw hell Commander, you gonna make me get all sentimental?” He stops then, and looks at me. “You know what happens when you lose the most advanced ship in the Alliance fleet? The one that saved the Citadel, led by the goddamn hero of the galaxy?” He walks again stiffly. “You get grounded, that’s what. And if it weren’t for you, your reputation, I’d have gotten a lot worse. Not that I wouldn’t have deserved it.”

I gape at him for a second, not realizing that I’d stopped following him. “They _grounded_ you?” I splutter, unable to take in the rest of what he said. “What the hell were they thinking? We were attacked, it’s not like you mutinied.”

“They weren’t thinking. Things changed when you died,” he says bitterly. “Files were sealed, the brass said nothing about the attack, there was no investigation… It sucked, Commander. Plain and simple. Besides, after stealing the ship twice, losing it, losing you in the process, it was a matter of time.”

“And Cerberus?”

“Oh they suck too, don’t get me wrong. But they ‘made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’” He tugs at the bottom part of his cheeks.

“Pffffahahahahaha! Ok, ok wiseguy, what did they do? The Illusive Man mentioned pilots. That’s you, I take it.” God, talking with him makes me feel normal again.

“You know it. But judging from the lack of awe and reverence in your voice, he didn’t say what I was flying.” We reached the end of the corridor, where Joker taps in a sequence to the next room. “I just found out about this baby today.”

And he flicks the lights on in the next room, and oh mama.

It’s a thing of goddamn beauty. Sleek lines, soft, almost feminine curves, with a power behind it that feels borderline primal. It’s the same feeling I got when I boarded the first love of my life. This has the same legendary shape, the classic feel of the _Normandy_ SR-1. They rebuilt my ship.

Except spatial awareness kicks in. They didn’t just rebuild my cozy frigate. This ship was easily twice the size of the SR-1, and for a second my grin falls to confusion. Just as I turn my head to Joker, he’s already a few yards ahead of me.

“Back here,” he says, and I run to catch up.

“Whoa...” I gasp. From back here I’m able to see where the Tantalus drive core is housed, and the added size means this this one is huge. “That’s gotta be twice as big.”

“Three times, and vertically mounted.” Joker says like a proud father. “Too big to go into orbit in most cases, so it has a separate shuttle. But don’t worry, Commander, we’ll still be able to stealth just like the old girl.”

“Hell yeah we are.” I grab him in a big side hug. “Running and gunning on the worst-laid plans,” I grin.

“Ow! Fragile, remember? And I don’t run, that’s your job. My job is to fly us there and back again in style and pull you out of the fire.”

“Too true. She needs a name,” I say reverently, then turn to him. “And I know just the one to give her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard's not actually pissed at Joker. It's just more of that stubborn men mentality that she gets tired to death of.


	4. Deja Vu on the SR2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard mans the helm of the SR2, and we finally see what Garrus has been on about.

**Shepard**

We get clearance to board the new _Normandy_. As soon as I walk in, nostalgia and excitement sweeps over me. Joker takes the helm and it looks so _right_. The wider corridor seats a full crew of flight personnel, unfamiliar but eager-looking. The section expands seamlessly into the CIC, looking every bit of how I don’t remember, like it’s almost home but flashier.

I run a hand across the railing, observing the holographic depiction of the craft. Miranda and Jacob follow in behind me and both look pretty damn cheerful despite the mission ahead of us. It’s likely due to my reaction to this ship. Fair enough. It’s a small victory for them and it _is_ a nice ship.

“Welcome to the new _Normandy_ , Commander,” Jacob says brightly. I quirk a smile at him in response.

“Commander, we received the dossiers from the Illusive Man. We should recruit Mordin Solus as soon as possible, as he will be key to counteracting the seeker venom,” Miranda reports crisply. Her presence reminds me that this isn’t some fantasy. She’s with Cerberus no matter how much she claims to be under my orders.

“Miranda I know you’re trying to help, so I’ll say this politely, but once. My command, my ship, my rules. I’ll take it into consideration, but I need a chance to look over the dossiers myself.”

“Operative Lawson makes a valid point, Shepard. Acquiring the professor would be the most logical place to start.”

_What the…_

“Uh, what the hell was that?” I ask, looking around for the source of the computerized voice.

“I am the _Normandy’s_ Artificial Intelligence. The crew like to refer to me as EDI.”

“There’s always a catch,” I grouse. “Is this somebody’s idea of a joke?”

“Have I offended?”

“The Commander has encountered many instances of rogue AIs, EDI,” Jacob explains. “Notably the geth, but also a rogue VI on Luna.”

“And Sovereign, and the weird one on the Citadel, but really who’s counting?” I pinch my nose and exhale sharply. “EDI, state your purpose.”

“I function as the electronic warfare defense for the ship. Be assured that I have been given behavioral blocks and cannot directly interface with the ship's systems. I observe and offer analysis and advice. Nothing more.”

She sounds almost sad about it, and I can’t tell if it’s because it’s power-hungry or if its feelings are hurt. _C’mon V, robots don’t have feelings._

“Noted. We’ll see how it works out. Not that I have much of a choice.”

“Understood, Shepard. Logging you out.”

I sigh. “Ok everyone, on with the show. We’ve got dossiers to look over, and we need some equipment upgrades.” _Preferably an omni-tool worth a damn and something better than a pistol._ “Joker, set a course for Omega. Can you give me the ETA?”

“We should get there in about eighteen Terran hours, Commander.”

**~*~**

With the ship inbound to the next system, I go to the extravagant captain’s cabin. I was given the full tour, spoke with Chambers, the new yeoman briefly, and went over the rosters with Miranda and Jacob. The only thing more shocking than seeing Joker again was seeing Dr. Chakwas. She said the same thing Joker did. She joined Cerberus on the promise of me, and left because the Alliance did nothing to build off what I proved.

It’s a little embarrassing to think that two of my compatriots would throw away their careers to follow an idealistic, trigger-happy nut-job. I’d be flattered if it didn’t speak poorly of their self-preservation.

I’ll have to contact Anderson, and find out just what happened while I was gone. After these two pick-ups, I’ll head to the Citadel and talk to him myself.

Before I left, Chakwas handed me a skin cream. “For the scarring,” she said, looking at me with sad, world-weary eyes.  Time to put it to use. I brace myself as I enter the private bathroom. This day feels like it’s finally over, but I have to do this. For the first time since I’ve woken up, I look in the mirror.

I don’t really see myself.

Sure, I see someone who _looks_ like Commander Shepard, but this person is thinner, with too many and too few scars. Glowing orange cracks run across my brown skin, reminding me of volcanos back on Earth. I flex, and sure enough, I’m not the juggernaut I used to be. I can’t say I’m frail exactly, especially not after the firefights I had. But this person looking out at me is narrower, leaner. Not the me I remember.

I lean in and check my face. They fixed the slight overbite I’ve had since I was twelve. Now it’s just...a perfect row of absolutely ordinary teeth. My nose is unbroken, something I hadn’t seen since Torfan. Hair is...longer, but still the same deep red, crinkled texture tied back into a bun.

They tried to make me a pretty little girl again instead of the soldier I’d become.

I find myself checking every other flaw and imperfection I had, and they’re gone. Every childhood scar, every mark, spot, blemish, gone. The long gash from Noveria, gone. No cavities, no fillings, just teeth. Without adrenaline guiding me, I decide to check one more thing.

Holding my hand out, I try to focus on the peace and equilibrium within my body. A flicker, and a slight tingle, but not much else. No barrier strength to speak of. I try instead to focus on exactly how my hand feels, how the air sits around my fingers and palm. Almost instantaneously a blue orb appears, with its familiar feeling of too hot and too cold. I dissipate the dark energy instead of releasing it.

They must have replaced my implant. I’ve had the L3 for a long time, but this was definitely an upgrade built more for power.

Sighing, I take a shower, amused that even the towels have Cerberus logos hand-stitched in. Of course a privately-funded ship will have strange luxuries like that. Slather on the skin cream. Try not to panic. It uses a combination of skinweave and Medigel components, and is supposed to help reduce the scarring. It seems to work, but I’m not holding my breath for long-term results. Chakwas said that reducing stress will help more with the healing process than anything else. And when has a stress-free moment _ever_ happened?

Eighteen hours. Plenty of time to sit, think, and not panic.

I rummage through the clothing armoire, and see several Cerberus uniforms, some civilian clothing of various styles, some formal attire, and... _hello_ , we are not an Alliance ship, now are we? Several pairs of lacy underwear, designed to be performance-ready for the classy gun-toting lady in all of us. Undoubtedly the same type is what’s holding Miranda up to… mountainous standards.

I flop on the bed, enjoying the peace of not having to run and gun, at least for the moment. On a lark, I check to see if I still have my older extranet account. Turns out I do, so I pass the time checking through old messages, and getting a feel for what I’d missed. Eventually, I see a message from Liara, a sent picture of our last party together on the Citadel.

They had to close down several parts of the Wards, but there were a few places still available. We wound up on Bachjret Ward, in some dive with ‘real’ human karaoke. All of us excited as hell that we did it. We killed a damn Reaper.

That night I’d made the worst drinking mistake of my life and challenged Wrex to shots. I held my own for a little while, but the next thing I know, I was mouthing off to Kaidan about which of us was the best biotic. It was funny at first until timid little Liara, drunk out of her gourd, put us both in stasis and shouted out her triumph. Then it was downright hilarious.

And now it’s been over two years since that night.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. It feels like only yesterday that I had them by my side. I know it’s not true, but there’s a big stretch between telling me I’ve been dead for two years and me realizing it for myself. Kaidan, plain and simple, should be at my side. Once I make contact with him, we can come up with a plan. Liara will come around too. If she was willing to stay on the old _Normandy_ , she’ll be likely to come back. Tali and Wrex are busy with their people, but it’s still worth a shot. Garrus being off the grid is a bit strange, but not unusual for a Spectre. I _still_ don’t know exactly how many there are out there. Once I get time to hit the Citadel, I’ll look him up.

With a plan in mind, I try to drown everything out with the new sound system, and stare at the skylight. Finally, after about hour, I drift off to sleep.

 

**Garrus**

I wait just outside the back entrance of Afterlife, rifle out of view. Further down the corridor, the only other beings out are two vorcha, arguing nonsensically about who they should pick for their next mark. I’m half-tempted to take them out myself out of sheer frustration, but I’ll leave petty tasks like that to the Blue Suns, or one of Aria’s men. From what I can tell, these aren’t Blood Pack; just small-time thugs.

Further up the alley I can see smoke rising, and I know that the acrid, sour stench of burned bodies will follow. This plague has been another menace, and all it’s been doing is distracting the Blue Suns. Which is a lucky break since it takes some of the heat off me.

Just then, a batarian stumbles out of the club, sloppily leaning against the wall with a dazed expression. I steal a quick glance down the corridor again. The vorcha are gone. Perfect timing.

In two steps I press the barrel to the batarian’s neck. “Kharish. Long time no see.”

“Oh, son of a….” He blinks about, struggling to take in the situation. Four eyes meet mine, and sobers up into sheer terror. “Archangel, dammit! Let me go, I ain’t done anything!”

“Maybe, maybe not. But you know who did.” I slam him roughly against the wall. “So we’re going to do a little trade. You tell me what you know, and I won’t splatter your brains all over these walls.”

“Fuck you,” he grimaces, but the fear in his voice doesn’t leave.

“Not the answer I was looking for,” I growl. I hit him in the knees with the butt of my rifle. He crumples to the ground with a soft thud and a loud scream. “Quiet. I’m just asking nicely for a little bit of information. Who bought Sidonis?”

“I du…I don’t know…” he whimpers. “I wasn’t part of it. I promise.”

“That’s the best you can do?” I ask, crouching into his face. “I know you know something, Kharish!”

“I promise I don’t know anything.”

“Suppose I believe you. It still wouldn’t explain you being his contact that day, or the credits transferred to your account the same time as his.” I stand up and cock the rifle. “What would you have me believe?”

“Wait! Wait! Tarek, ok? It was Tarak who paid him off. He didn’t do it in person but it was him, I swear!”

He of course is telling me something I already know. Enough humming on the street already told me that Tarak was behind the attack. I was hoping more for a lead on Sidonis’ whereabouts, and whoever he dealt with would have a better chance on knowing where he disappeared to.

I regard Kharish warily, rifle still pointed at him. There’s not much of a chance he’ll give me the answers I’m looking for. Just a waste of time.

Still.

“You think I don’t know Tarak is behind this? I need a real answer, and I needed it yesterday. Who moved the credits?”

“So…Suh… Some Asari gal. An Eclipse. I didn’t catch her name, but she went to Illium afterward. That’s all I know, I swear,” he sobs.

How the hell did Eclipse get involved with this too? If they were both involved, then it stands that some of the other merc groups would wise up and start working together. _Dammit_. I’ll need to fortify.

I’ll have to go back.

And now that I know that, I realize I don’t have much time before they try to close in on me. Suddenly this narrow little alley is too open, too public. And Kharish, well. He knows too much. Which is just as well. He gave me one last warning whether he knows it or not.

“Thanks for your time. Nothing personal, Kharish.”

Four eyes widen in terror. Before he could protest, I pull the trigger.

_One less to worry about._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garrus has nothing but renegade interrupts for this guy.


	5. Fallen Angels and Undead Warriors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard recruits Archangel, and to no one's surprise, it's Garrus.

**Shepard**

Ah, Omega. The Toilet of the Terminus.

I step towards the VIP entrance of Afterlife, the one-stop shop for ryncol hangovers, scale-itch, and mouthy asaris. It's the last that has me bothering with the place at all. This club, this whole outpost feels too much like a fight waiting to happen, and having the Cerberus pep squad on my back puts me on edge. Adding to the ambiance is the distinct, overly-sweet stench of burning flesh. _Different species collaborating, at least in death_. The next pick-up, the Professor, is towards that smell, and I'm sure as hell avoiding that for now.

We enter the bar, and maneuver to the ‘throne’ of Aria T'Loak. A batarian guard blocks our way. “Let me handle this,” I order Miranda and Jacob. “Be on guard.”

Jacob, ever the soldier, remains at parade rest at the bottom of the stairs. Miranda lets out a tiny huff, then immediately starts typing into her omni-tool.

“Scan her,” a commanding voice booms out. “I want to make sure I'm speaking with the real Commander Shepard.”

“You flatter me, Aria. Anyone using this face would have a death wish. I should know.” _Call it humor therapy._

Aria. Her name ran across my intel during the wild geth chase. She made a name for herself over the centuries as the de-facto leader of Omega. Started off as an asari ass-shaker, then killed the owner of Afterlife and took over the club. If that wasn't enough, Persephone here managed to dip her hands into as many crime syndicates within the Terminus as possible. I heard she was deadly. But hopefully no deadlier than any other pistol-whipping blue chick.

“Hmph.” The statuesque figure saunters over to the guard, checks the scan and nods. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Spectre? I assume you're not here for the dancers.”

“Maybe later if you're feeling up to it. For now, I need information. Archangel. What's his deal?” I make my way to the couch and lounge idly. “Full story, if you'd please.”

Aria shoots a haughty glare at me. “Watch yourself, _Commander_. You've already gotten kicked out of one afterlife.” She snaps her fingers at a dancer then launches into the story. “He's in over his head. He showed up a few months back with delusions of cleaning up Omega. Noble goal, but his _idealism_ did not sit well with the other mercs and businesses. The Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse have teamed up to hunt him down.”

“That much manpower for one guy?”

“And more,” she almost gloats. “The mercs have had a hard time finishing him off, so they're hiring freelancers to help take him down.” Aria sips a bright blue concoction. “I found it entertaining at first, seeing the squads band together to stop him. But he's overstayed his welcome. Now,” she shifts her eyes to me craftily. “What do _you_ want with Archangel? Want him as dead as the merc bands do? Or do you have something more _interesting_ in mind?”

“I need him alive. That all I'm gonna say about it.”

“Well, now. You're not going to make a lot of friends around here,” she says, smiling into her drink. “But if you get him off of Omega, I won’t complain. The freelancer sign-up is in the private room over there. Try not to die again, Commander. It would be an awful shame.”

_Cheeky little tart._

“Jacob, report to the ship and get Massani back here. If he's dealt with the Blue Suns before, we might be able to exploit a weakness or two.”

“On it, Commander,” he says with a salute. _At least he follows orders. Let's hope Zaeed can do the same._

 

**Garrus**

Blame it on the military training, blame it on investigative habits, or being under constant scrutiny by Ash and Wrex, but I kept things tidy. It's a habit that's saved my life, and right now, lets me know how long I've got left. Sensat bought me more time than I could ever know. I still have a cache of thermo-clips, detonators, and stims, ‘procured’ from his last assignment.

Deep down I know it's not going to be enough.

The quality of mercs meeting my bullets was much lower. Freelancers, likely. I can't help but feel a little bad for them, even if they're trying to kill me. Good business plan on the mercs. Offer the promise of wealth and notoriety, all while funneling them to their death IOU-free. Far from classy, and a waste of good ammo for me.

I think about the last conversation I had with Weaver and Ripper, the night before this pipe-dream came to an end. Weaver followed one of the human religions, a Catholic, and Ripper was a huge conspiracy theorist, enough to at least humor me on the Reaper threat when I told him. We had this big sweeping chat about whether fate is the ultimate guiding hand, and if we were always meant to deal with the things we dealt with. They'd both wanted to pull back, and hope that what we did would resonate.

At the time I disagreed with them. After what I'd seen at the Citadel, I couldn't just back down. Too many good people doing nothing and becoming dead weight because of it. And fate? Something about the disregard for responsibility didn't sit well with me. It was like telling me that they were always meant to die. That I was never meant to see anything else but this waste.

 Weaver was the one that explained to me what Archangel even meant. After that night on the rooftop, I'd have been happier just thinking human angel, similar to our belief in spirits and that's it. After she explained about the angels of death, good and evil, and the roles each one played, it made sense, in a nonsense sort of way. Somehow, the implication of death... It was fitting, but a lot of weight to carry. Too much, now.

I could save myself the trouble, I suppose. At least that way, some dumb kid with a crap gun doesn't catch me off guard. But the same kid would find my body and claim they killed me. My head mounted on the wall of some vorcha den.

No, I needed to go out in a way that was marginally more stylish. Some explosions, a monologue, and _Die for the Cause_ blaring over my omni-tool. That or a quick bullet to the head with a turian salute.

Damn I'm tired.

More freelancers make their way across the bridge. A bigger lot than a few hours ago. They might be planning something. I snap into position, and start lining up my shots. Another four down. From the looks of it, ten more freelancers are right behind them.

Wait. Crap.

I peer into my scope again to make certain. Sure enough, one of the freelancers, a pale human female, is wearing the tell-tale Cerberus emblem, and a man with more scars than face moves with the ease of a veteran merc. They maneuver with precision and skill that the other hapless idiots lacked.

Then another figure comes into view. Another human, brown skin showing just behind a visor as orange as her scars. She’s in black and red armor. _She_ always wore... Nah. The trio go seamlessly into position, but one that doesn’t quite add up. Not to attack any snipers like me, at least. Intrigued, I hold off on taking a shot and focus on the other freelancers making their way down the bridge.

Suddenly, the crackling of burnt atmosphere grabs my attention. I shift my scope in time to see the Cerberus operative and armored figure exploding orb after orb of biotics. In one fell swoop, the other mercs are down, leaving the three-man team. _Dammit, what are they doing?_ But they're too dangerous to keep alive. I'm just about to line my shot up for the woman in skindex.

The female in black and red armor is suddenly in view. She proceeds to loot one of the freelancers, and pockets a credit chit and leftover thermo-clips. The skindex biotic taps her foot impatiently.

I'd laugh, but my brain is trying to decide if this is utter crap.

I can't shake the feeling of hope and dread.  It must be a hallucination from too many stims or not enough sleep. _I'm already dead._ I load a concussive shot and shoot the ghost. Not much of a waste if I'm dreaming, at least.

A rude gesture, one I was taught a lifetime ago. _Crap_.

More freelancers are coming over the bridge, and I perform the age-old habit of watching her back. It's not her, it's one of the death angels or whoever the hell Weaver said was waiting for me. But if I'm dead or dying, might as well do what I do best going down.

 

**Shepard**

This guy better be worth the damn trouble. I roll my shoulders, trying to nurse the ache out. Concussive rounds hurt like hell, though not as hellish as I remember. What the hell did they do to me, and how many add-ons do I have?

“Looks like Archangel got the hint at least,” Miranda states, motioning towards the freshly dropped bodies back on the bridge. I shrug. What else is there to do, really?

I motion to Miranda and Zaeed to stay close. Even though Archangel's not shooting at us now, doesn't mean there aren't any nasty traps ahead. Keeping a steady guard, I make my way upstairs, until I can just see the target.

“Archangel?” I say, lowering my pistol.

The turian motions for pause, then lines up a shot for some sad sap. I roll my eyes. _Great, another hotshot_. He then coolly seats himself on some crates, and lifts his helmet.

My eyes are playing me. The guy in front of me is a turian alright, but no one said anything about those exact blue tattoos on a silvery-grey face. Ice-blue eyes regard me and my companions, and he leans on an all too familiar heavily-modded sniper rifle.

“Shepard. Thought you were dead.”

“Garrus! Holy shit, get over here!” I exclaim, rushing over and knocking his back armor. “What are you doing in this cesspool? And why'd you fucking shoot me?”

“You've never been good with covert, Shepard. Had to make em think for a little bit that you weren't suspicious.”

“Riiiight. Except I never really cared about covert.” I take him in a little longer. “How are you holding up?” I say, soberly. “You look like a bag of smashed asshole.”

And he did. Scanning the scene, I could see tidily discarded stims and thermo-clips. Spare weapons were cast away, but within reach from this vantage point. All the leftovers from a party where only bullets and blood were invited. Garrus himself looked like warmed over shit. Too many sleepless nights, and not enough time to get the job done. Gone was the roguish idealist, and before me stood a man who'd seen too much too fast.

It was like looking in a damn mirror. _I wanted so much more for you, Garrus._

“Been better. Killing mercs, trying not to die. The usual.”

Let's try something different. “I uh, see you still have the same rifle from when we fought against Saren. Did the Spectre office have any new upgrades?”

“I wouldn't know, Shepard. I'm not exactly a Spectre. Never finished my training.”

That's...different. I distinctly remember him being excited all to hell about trying for it when we were still on the _Normandy_. When I dropped him off back on the Citadel, he was grinning like a kid on Christmas when I forwarded a glowing recommendation. 

“So... What happened? How'd you get in this jam?” Garrus walks further up the balcony with a purposeful, predatory stride. I follow suit, but he avoids looking at me.

“Feelings got in the way. We get out of this alive first. You do that, and I'll tell you the whole story.” He then turns to me, and seems to study me for a moment. “What about you, though? You're a little less dead than I remember.”

“I... yeah.” I cock my head back to Miranda. “Apparently, dying didn't fit in their plans. I can't really get over it myself.” Thinking about it for too long will put me in a state of panic, which I frankly can do without. “Listen, we'll talk about it later.”

He stares at me a bit longer, and something akin to sympathy flickers in his eyes. “Let's see if we can get to the later first,” he finally sighs.

“Right. In the meantime,” I beckon Miranda and Zaeed over. “Huffy hot stuff over here is Miranda Lawson. Play nice, or she'll kill us both.” I watch as Miranda's stoic face flashes a bit into the tiniest frown. “And this here's Zaeed Massani. He kills things almost as stylishly as me if you'd believe it. You guys, this is Garrus Vakarian. He helped me in my fight against Saren and the Reaper Sovereign. He's a helluva soldier, but he exaggerates his kill count. Most are assists.” I wink at Garrus conspiratorially.

“We'll see about that, Shepard. The stats don't lie.” He taps his visor at me and flairs a mandible.

“Fair enough. Knowing you, all the other exits save for that bridge are sealed off. One of the merc squads mentioned that the bridge was just a distraction, and the tunnels are the real grab.”

“Hmm. The tunnels should hold for now, but we won't be able to go out that way, not without a bigger fight at least. We can hold position here, and whittle down the forces, then make a break for it between the waves.”

“Running and gunning on the worst-laid plans, eh?” I say dryly. “It's just like old times after all.” I turn my visor back on, and pop in a new thermo clip.

“Just like old times indeed.”

 

**Garrus**

I can't believe I might be getting out of this alive after all. In a short amount of time, we were able to dispose of Jaroth, a feat I'd never imagine doing myself tonight. Apparently Shepard left enough nasty code in the YMIR to take out half the Eclipse squad, so the rest were easy picks.

We gather up some of the spare weapons I stashed, and run a quick check of any injuries. I find myself pleasantly surprised that there’s not a scratch on the other biotic, Miranda I think. She has a skillset similar to Shepard, but they definitely handle their biotics differently. While Shepard likes taking point and doing fast little strikes, Miranda seems to favor more deliberate, heavy attacks from the back. Zaeed’s a little more like my style, but rougher, less disciplined. More like a merc I guess, but he seems capable.

For old time's sake I check my visor. Well I'll be damned. She really is back.

“The Biotic Blunder is kicking ass!” I laugh. “Cerberus inject you with more krogan blood than you already had?”

She frowns, but shoots back, “Hey Vakarian, that nickname's old hat. How was I supposed to know she'd beat me?”

“300-year-old asari at biotic lifting? Sure, I'd pick the human every time.”

“As I recall, you did,” she says. “We get off this rock, I'll have to see if they let us back in that bar.”

“Forgive me if I find that unlik– SHEPARD, WATCH OUT!”

Before I know it, 300 kilos of Garm charges right towards Shepard. I switch to my assault rifle and fire rounds. She on the other hand locks into place like a death wish, a brutal smile on her face. An instant later her armor explodes, knocking the krogan back. With a battle cry, she stabs Garm near his frontal plate, followed by a deep purple biotic field. He stumbles, bellowing krogan curses. The dark-haired woman steps in and slams him against the wall with a flick of the wrist, reducing him to a lifeless heap.

_All dying ever did was piss her off._

The remainder of Garm's Blood Pack goes down easier than I could imagine after that. I don't know what Cerberus did to them, but Shepard's squad is tearing through his forces like paper. They weren't exactly seamless, but they were getting the job done.

A final wave storms across the bridge. Shepard motions to Miranda to follow her down the stairs, leaving the veteran and me to snipe from above. We’re able to whittle down the heavier forces from up here, and I take a moment to observe his skills. Nothing to scoff at, but I’m curious about where he fits in with this operation. Meanwhile Shepard overloads the remaining pyros, laughing just a little too hard.

“Well that's Blood Pack taken care of. We haven't seen Blue Suns yet, but I think we should make a break for it.” She marches back up, flicking vorcha parts off her armor.

“Hmm. Probably as good a time as any. Be on the watch for them, all the same.”

Just then I hear a swarm of angry grunts and shouts making their way across the bridge. The remaining squad, the Blue Suns, are pushing through in their last charge. There's a lot, but after today, nothing the four of us can't handle. I signal to make our break for it anyway, but then I hear the distinct whirring of an old enemy.

_Dammit, I thought I took that thing out._

“ARCHANGEL, YOU THINK YOU CAN SCREW WITH THE BLUE SUNS!?” Tarek shouts.

And then either the flash blinds me, or the pain. Not sure if it matters which.

I can barely hear the anguished shouts and gun spray, and the only reliable sense is the feeling of vibrations from the gunship. I close my eyes, and my mind drifts back in time. To my father’s words. _“...If you give up now, you're never going to make it...”_

**Shepard**

_No. No no no, fuck you God, you can't take him._ I can't even hear myself scream anymore as I lay everything I got at the gunship. _You canNOT have him, you hear me, he's NOT leaving today._

“Miranda, stabilize him! Zaeed, cover us. NOW!”

“Roger, Commander. We'll get him out of here.”

I fire everything I can at this ship, my new sworn enemy. Round after round of biotic blasts leave my fingers until I can feel the skin on my face prickle and burn. _You can't have him._ The gunship fires off more shots, though it's sporadic and shaky from the damage already done by Garrus however many days ago.

I start aiming overload sequences at the ship’s weak spots, barely waiting for my omni-tool to recalibrate. _You can't have him._ Two more rockets fire off, crashing into the walls of the apartment, scattering stims and clips everywhere. I grab a clip that rolls toward me and reload, spraying more ammo at the gunship's fuel containers.

“How is he!?”

“Breathing, Commander. He's stabilized, but just barely. We have to get him to the _Normandy_ straight away,” Miranda says, annoyingly calm over the din.

“Joker!” I bark into the comm. “Prepare for an evac right away! We’ve got Garrus, but he’s in bad shape!”

“Shit, Garrus!? On it, Shepard.”

I launch more rounds of biotic spheres at the gunship, grimly satisfied that it finally crashes to the streets below. I immediately turn to the collapsed body behind the overturned couch.

“Garrus, hey buddy,” I say softly. “You're gonna be ok, hear me?” I reach over to add more Medigel to his neck. The clotting agent is barely holding up, and a pool of cerulean forms within his suit. “We're getting you out of here now. Don't worry.”

“Shep-” he gurgles.

“You're gonna be ok,” I repeat, more for myself at this point.

“He's not gonna make it,” Zaeed says, and it takes everything in my power not to deck him on the spot.

_You can't fucking have him, you hear me?_

**~*~**

We rush Garrus to the Medbay, Dr. Chakwas already prepped for the worst. She all but snarls at me to leave, knowing damn well that I need to be there. She pushes me out and activates the medbay shutters, blocking my view. Fucking mutiny.

Disgruntled, I head back to the elevator and straight to my cabin. I toss off the rest of my armor and undersuit, and trudge dazedly to the shower. Numb would be a good feeling to have. Numb was how I felt about Ashley. She died a soldier's death and knew what she was getting into. But I failed her anyway. I failed Garrus now. And with no one left, everyone moving on. I just...I can't with this horseshit. I turn on the shower and sit, knees up, arms folded. I failed him. I failed and now I don’t know if I have it in me to go at it alone.

Garrus became one of my best damn friends on the _Normandy_. Back then, I couldn't help but get irritated at anyone who had a chip on their shoulders about humanity. Saren had that in spades, and I almost wanted to take him down for that reason alone. Garrus saw past humans and turians, and was only about doing the right thing. He was just so hopeful and angry at the same time. And for coming from races that warred with each other before, man did our ideals and sense of justice line up.

We were supposed to be badass Spectres, fighting all the evil in the galaxy. And I failed him by dying and failed him again by coming back.

Eventually I get up, and don one of the many Cerberus uniforms. Tie my too-long hair back into a bun and tart myself up, partly to hide the scars, and mostly to keep my hands busy. Satisfied, I head down to the briefing room.

Inside, I see Jacob waiting for me. I pick up a datapad, and mutter through the AAR, barely hearing the questions Jacob is buzzing at me. Finally, some words break through.

“–Corrected with surgical procedures and some cybernetics. Best we can tell, he'll have full functionality, but...”

And in swaggers Garrus, and aside from his face I'd never guess that he was literally on the brink of death. I couldn't help but smile. Chakwas had to be pissed, but she knew he was always a shitty patient.

“Shepard,” he nods.

“Tough son of a bitch,” Jacob says, clearly impressed.

“Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad is it?”

Hmm. Big ass side bandage to the face, burn wounds and scars running across most of his mandible down as far as his cowl, and flayed armor. Yep.

“Hell Garrus,” I grin. “You were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and no one will even notice.”

“Hah. Ahh, oooh, don't make me laugh, damn it. I thought scars did it for women.” He winces and winks at me.

“Only krogan women, I'm afraid.”

“Then I guess we're both giving Wrex a run for his money,” he laughs.

“I think we got what we need, Commander.” Jacob salutes, and dismisses himself.

As Jacob leaves, Garrus leans in, serious again. “I'm more worried about this outfit, Shepard. Cerberus? You're aware of all the labs we busted back in the day. You're not exactly friends.”

“I know,” I grimace. “I wanna be clear that I'm not actually working for them. It's a shitty rock and hard place situation. If I hadn't seen what the stakes were myself, I'd tell them to fuck off in a heartbeat. It's exactly why I need you here. You, I can trust. And if I'm walking into hell I'll need you by my side.”

“Your plan involves me walking into hell too you know. It's just like old times after all,” he responds dryly. “I'll watch your six, Shepard, don't worry. In the meantime, I'll make myself useful in the main battery.”

“Ah, right. You always did like big guns. I'll talk to you later.”

Garrus gives me a final nod and walks out. I breath a real sigh of relief. This mission isn't as tits-up after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A 'turian salute' is a thumb and forefinger in a circle. First use was around 2167 during trade negotiations with the humans and turians. The human gesture typically means 'asshole,' which turians found amusing enough to integrate into their own culture. Humans in turn didn't know whether this was an actual salute. The name eventually stuck on both sides.


	6. Sleeping is Overrated Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard has a lot on her mind. Garrus probably does too.

**Shepard**

I head up to the cabin, still shaken up after Zanethu. Investigating an abandoned ship was idiotic. It was reliving that nightmare all over again, as if I need an excuse to wake up screaming. A fight or some booze would be a god-send, but the ship feels too new, too _watched_ for me to cut loose. I lay down trying for sleep, and …nothing. I do pistol get-ups for twenty minutes. Count heartbeats afterwards. Still too much noise. Turn on some music. Nothing’s helping.

Guess it’s gonna be one of those nights.

I try to think about the people on board now. Miranda’s starting to get a grip on things. Once Mordin Solus, the salarian doctor made it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate the second round of surveillance bugs, Miranda took it upon herself to disable the rest on the ship. Pretty big olive branch, but she still answers to Cerberus whether she says so or not. I still need to keep an eye on her.

Mordin… seems nice enough. Witty, almost friendly once I got past the rapid-fire talking. But then he said he helped prolong the genophage. To _help_ the krogans. When he revealed that tidbit to me, my mind went back to Wrex. Our fight on Virmire. Seeing him book passage to Tuchanka. How different would life be for him if the STG left well enough alone? Wrex might have a better chance for his people. A life beyond the next merc contract. I’ll work with Mordin if I have to, but I can’t stand by the idea that it was the ‘right thing to do.’

Jacob and Zaeed seem to follow orders well enough.  Zaeed’s likely to get everyone killed if his stories are anything to go by, and Jacob is just a soldier at heart. Nice enough, but just a soldier.

Still nothing.

I remember having bouts of insomnia or restlessness back on the old _Normandy_. A combination of stress and a peculiar type of homesickness. I’d miss people from my old crew, or certain hums, vibrations, or even layouts from ships I lived on. This is no different, but the SR2 feels strange. Close to home, but not. An imposter.

_Like me._

I couldn’t help but miss the late night talks with my crew back on the SR1. It turned into a comfort, working side by side with Wrex, Ashley and Garrus, sometimes in silence or trading a war story or two. Over time, we became friends. I kinda miss those times. Hell, there’s no kinda about it.

Wait.

Garrus is just down in the battery. Can’t miss something that’s here now. It couldn’t hurt to go down and talk to him, or have him come up. It’s late, but he’s always kept weird hours.

If he even wants to. He knows the stakes of the mission, so he’s probably up to his knees in calibrations. Or at least that’s the excuse he’s given these past few days. He dodged a few of my earlier attempts to chat, and he’s been acting preoccupied ever since we picked him up from Omega. He hasn’t yet wanted to talk about the last two years, and I wasn’t in the mood to pry it out of him. But maybe we could just talk. Like old times. It’s worth a try anyway.

I drag myself out of bed, and go to the terminal at my desk. “Hey Garrus, you up?”

“Yeah, just going over the cannon schematics. Think I know a good upgrade for the ship. Everything alright?”

“Um, yeah. Just gathering wool up here. Wanna come up and chat?”

A long pause. “Yeah, I’ll be up in a bit.”

**~*~**

A few minutes later, Garrus comes in, dressed in a comfortable-looking set of civvies.

“Hey there. I hardly ever see you out of armor.”

“Armor comes with the territory of being a vigilante.” He presents a freshly-heated dinner to me. “Here. Chakwas stopped me on my way here. Said you didn’t go to the mess at all and you needed to eat more, so I uh...” He trails off.

“Thanks big guy.” I grab it and sit on the couch to tuck in on the modest meal. Gardner’s been trying his hardest, and it’s better than military, but damn I can’t wait to get him better provisions. “I guess after I got back it slipped my mind. C’mon, sit. Can I get you anything?”

“No, but thank you anyway. I’d already eaten a couple of hours ago. So what’s on your mind?” He makes his way to the couch as well, eyes scanning the ceiling. “An excuse to keep me up all night?”

“Wow Vakarian, how long have you been saving that line?” I shoot a sly look at him, and he rolls his eyes in response. The guy’s always had a pole up his ass about human phrasing. “I dunno, I just can’t sleep. Too much thinking, and nothing to drown it out. You ever get that?”

“Sure. That’s what I was doing down there anyway. Calibrating helps take my mind off things. You could always try something similar instead of calling me up here just to tease and badger me.” He gives me a stern look.

“What, calibrating huge guns?” I snicker. “Like you’d let anyone ruin all your hard work.”

“It’s your ship, Shepard. You can screw around with any gun you want. But if you want precision, leave it to the pros.”

“For warships, sure. Every other gun I touch sing like goddamn angels.” I pause for a bit. “Where’d you pick up badger, anyway? You’ve never gotten animal slang ever.”

“Not true. I understood ‘pig out’ just fine, if you recall. ‘Badger’ came from Joker. Said it was basically when you hassle him.” He flicks his good mandible at me, his familiar equivalent of a smirk. “Never heard of the animal, though.”

“Don’t listen to that ass. Badgers are tiny little bastards that bite and claw. Vicious as fuck. They’re too smart for their own good and stubborn as hell.”

“So it fits.”

“Hey, piss off!”

“No, it all sounds pretty official to me. I’ll have to look up what they look like now. If they’re anything like humans, then they’re probably covered in that damn fuzz you people call fur.”

“Sorry Vakarian, but mammals are the best. At least badgers are cute, so there’s that.”

“Indeed.” He looks around some more, and I start to feel self-conscious. I hadn’t cleaned up after I tried to blow off steam, and there’s random datapads, coffee mugs and exercise clothes scattered about. Certainly not the picture-perfect ideal for a commanding officer.

“I just realized this is the first time I’ve been up here. It’s a little different from the SR1. How do you like it?” He asks, looking at the fish tank.

“I dunno,” I frown. “It’s a bit fancy, but I’m getting used to it. It’s half again the size of the old _Normandy_. Bigger than any room I’ve ever had growing up.”

“I still can’t imagine living like that,” he muses. “Were you even planet-side that often?”

“Hah, I wasn’t even born on a planet. I stayed on a couple of colonies for school, and did some training on Earth. But never long enough to get used to it.” I finish up the meal, and lean back behind the couch to throw away the container. I turn back, and see Garrus giving me an odd look.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Your scar from Noveria is gone.”

“Oh. Yeah, I remember that one. No more sour notes from that kid.” Unconsciously, I rub where the scar used to be; one long gash from my left hip up to the middle of my spine. We’d just discovered the rachni “children,” and found out the hard way just how vicious they could be. It took Wrex telling me later that I was lucky they were weaker than the original ones his people fought.

“I hated that scar,” he says quietly.

“Can’t say I blame you there. But I got better, right?”

“You neglect your left flank. Always have and you still do now. I should’ve known then.” He looks away again at that.

_He still feels guilty over that?_

“Aww c’mon,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “You know I’ve never been one to play it safe.”

“Least of all a firefight.”

“Man I can’t win with you, can I?” I scoff. “At least I didn’t take a rocket to the face.”

He just shrugs, an oddly human gesture for him. “True. You took a planet to the face instead. You mentioned seeing Tali. You been able to make contact with Kaidan?” He asks.

“Nah, not yet. Whatever he’s up to, it’s sealed up all to hell. When we get to the Citadel, I plan on contacting Anderson. He’ll probably be more in the know.” I look at him warily. “Odd of _you_ to mention him.”

“Is it that odd?”

“I just had a vibe that you didn’t like him sometimes.”

“Nah, I like him fine. I like anyone who’s watching my back instead of pointing a gun to my head.”

“That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement, you know. Besides, you shot me. What’s that say about you and me?” I tease.

“With a concussive shot. Quit whining,” he grumbles. “That was closer to giving you a push out the door more than anything.”

“Ok fine, say I believe that. Doesn’t explain why you were always so rankled around him.”

“I was never _rankled_. He’s a fine guy, nice even. Good shot, especially for a biotic,” he says, smirking at me again. “He just…always looked at me like a wounded animal or something. Even Ashley had stopped acting weird at some point.”

“Oh,” I say softly. “He uh, had a bad time with a turian, long time ago. It didn’t end well. He always felt pretty guilty about it.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “So are you going to get any fish?”

 _Awesome, because I did_ not _want to get into this anymore._

“I dunno. Think I should?”

“Sure, why the hell not?” He shrugs. “I mean, as long as you can keep them alive, go for it.”

“I guess. It feels like I’d be promoting bad protocol.”

“What is it you humans say? Play the hand you’re dealt, Shepard. They give you a few luxuries, might as well take them. They gave you some creature comforts because they could, and probably because they know they’re asking the impossible of you. It goes for you too.”

“Does it now?” I arch an eyebrow at him.

“Sure it does. You’re faster, stronger, you hit like a truck now, and close-quarter was never your strong suit before. Your biotics, much as I tease are decent too. Take it and run with it.”

At that I grin. “You really do know how to make a girl swoon, don’t you?”

He flicks a mandible at me again with a warm look in his eyes. “Not particularly, but I have my moments.”

“Uh-huh. Well it’s the pick-me-up I needed. So thanks for that.”

“So are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you? Or do we call it a night for now?”

I sigh. If I had any doubts about the others, then I don’t know if I would let Garrus know. I have to show a strong front for my crew, and for him too, right? But then…

He’s here for a reason. Sure, before it was Saren, and we were both eager as schoolkids to take him down. But now? He’s not even human, and he’s set on helping the colonists. We served on the same ship a long time ago. It’s not like I’m making him do this.

The least I can do is tell the truth.

“Garrus, I don’t trust my own damn crew and it’s like I’m trapped in a very luxurious cage. This isn’t even my body anymore if you let Miranda tell it. How do I even know I’m me?”

“You’re you,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“But how can you say that? For all I know, I could be some kind of clone, or high-functioning VI.”

“You’re not,” he says, and he scoots closer and reaches toward my phantom Noveria scar. “When you got this,” he traces, “You said the exact same stupid joke. Comms were disabled because of all the geth interference, and it was just us while I patched you up. You may have lost your scars, but you didn’t find a sense of humor either.”

He breaks contact, and his words and where he traced lingers. It takes me a hair too long to react to his comment. It feels no longer than three months ago when that happened. Me trying to crack a joke, him clearly trying not to lose his shit. Definitely the first time I realized turians tended to have sticks up their asses. After a moment, I recover.

“Goddammit Vakarian, you are such an insufferable asshole. Fine. I’m me, sense of humor and all. What about the crew?”

“That part’s easy, too. How much were you able to trust Wrex, or Liara, or even me at the beginning? Wrex was a merc, loyal only to a paycheck. Liara was the daughter of Saren’s top cohort. And I was some C-SEC officer trying to take down a fellow turian, with a human, no less. What did you do?”

“Be a naïve idealistic hellraiser, garnering trust and body counts along the way,” I mutter.

“Not how I would put it, but yeah. You’re you, so just be you. Everything else will fall into place.”

I look at him again, and he’s giving me the same comforting warm look. Since when was he the one giving me advice? And since when was I so keen on listening to it?

“Thanks for the pep-talks,” I say.

“Anytime, Shepard. But um…” He breaks off, “I should let you get back to sleep. You have to be sharp if you’re meeting with Anderson, right?”

“Yes, right. Plus the Council. I want to appeal to them in some way.”

“Good luck with that,” he says, standing. “Get some rest, either way.”

“Sure,” I smirk, standing a little too quickly.

He looks at me a little longer, then reaches for my arm. “You’ll get through. You always do.”

With that, he turns and leaves without another word. Admittedly, I feel better but now I feel like I can’t sleep for an entirely new reason. I flop back into bed and try to follow the turian’s advice.

 

**Garrus**

I head back to the main battery, aware of the night shift taking leave. Funny that Shepard still picks odd times to chat. Back on the old ship, our conversations happened in front of the Mako with very little cause to delve into personal feelings and insecurities. Sure, we talked about growing up, family, and war stories. The things expected of a commanding officer and subordinate.

Something shifted in the short time that I’ve been aboard this ship. Maybe it’s the mutual near death experiences, but she stopped being Commander, if only for a little while. With the way she carried herself, I thought nothing had changed with her. But working with Cerberus, confessing fears? Guess she’s changed a little too.

It may have more to do with being stripped of the usual supportive figures. Sure, there’s Joker, Chakwas, and me from the old crew, but there’s no Alliance backing. And call me paranoid, but I have to wonder just what kind of offer those two got to switch sides so fast. I can blame it on an understandable bit of hero-worship for her along with the naivety born from being support crew. It’s one thing to fly us into a hell zone or patch up the wounds afterwards, but seeing the damage up close and personal drives home just how dangerous Cerberus could be.

But then that makes me question what the hell _I’m_ doing here.

Part of me feels like I’m selling my soul for being grateful they brought Shepard back, so it’s not hard to imagine how _she_ feels. And in a selfish sense, if she hadn’t come when she did... When presented with an alternative to death, somehow noble sacrifice doesn’t ring as true. I was lucky to be alive because of her.

At the very least, this mission is a marginal improvement on both of our life expectancies. Which is amusing considering the top words from the operative’s mouth was “suicide mission.” It’s fitting in a way. One last chance to redeem myself to a teammate. And maybe this time, I won’t fail.

**~*~**

Several hours later, we dock into the open arm of Zakera Ward. I make my way to the bay, along with Jacob and Shepard. He and I are set to purchase weapons and other mods we may find useful. Meanwhile Shepard is going to try to rally the Council, for all the good that’ll do. Part of me hopes that just the shock of her coming back alive will be enough to goad them into action, but I know that idea is futile.

It’s almost as if the Council is as completely indoctrinated as Saren was. Whether I’d prefer that over them being willfully ignorant and unprepared is a different matter.

I look at the Spectre, no trace of the fidgety vulnerability from hours ago. Instead I see the hard-set eyes and crooked smile I’ve come to know. The grey and black captain uniform bears no Cerberus logo, a smart move considering the dark reputation. She looks up at me and cocks her head ever so slightly. Her way of saying ‘might as well get it over with.’

We head to the newly erected security checkpoint behind an angry turian. When our turn comes up, I hear Shepard comment on the higher security.

“I thought it would be nice returning here, but the crime is as high as ever,” I grumble. “Revolving-door prisons, and all kinds of vermin at play here.”

“Couldn’t be worse than that shithole Omega,” she replies.

“The illusion of safety makes it worse.”

“Mmm,” she hums, distracted. “Hey excuse me, any reason why check through is taking so long?” She asks the security clerk.

“Well um, ma’am it shows here that you’ve been dead for a little over two years. Deceased parties will have to fill out these forms here to verify living status.” The clerk hands over a datapad to her.

“You’re kidding. I’m standing right here.”

“That’s just the way it goes, ma’am. We’ve had this issue come up too many times, so you have to follow procedure. I hate to inform you, but this also means there’s a seal on any funds earned prior to your erm, death. You’ll need to sign these forms as well to reclaim any lost property that hasn’t already been auctioned to Citadel Space.”

“Give me that,” Shepard snatches the datapad from the clerk. Her eyes dart across the words, and she begins laughing mirthlessly. “Oh dammit, my apartment got seized. I earned that place. Look ma’am, I don’t have time for this.”

“I didn’t know you had an apartment,” I say.

“Won it in a bet,” she muses, offering no further explanation.

I shrug at Jacob. “Let’s go. The land of the living waits for no one. Shepard, let’s see if we can find a loophole around this paperwork.”

“I thought red tape was your bane.”

“It is, along with smart-mouthed Spectres.”

We go through the security checkpoint where Haron is on duty. “Haron,” I nod. “Anyway you can overlook her being dead?”

“Long time, Vakarian. She don’t look dead to me,” he shoots back. “Tax dodging?”

“Spaced. She got better.”

“ _Spirits_! You’re probably screwing with me, but go talk to the captain about it. He’ll sort her out.”

“Hey, I’m right here,” Shepard grumbles.

“Yeah, and the captain’s right in there,” Haron returns.

Inside the C-SEC office is a vaguely familiar light-haired man by the name of Bailey. He’s in the process of chewing out one of the rookies, so we hang back for a second.

“– put the screws to him if you need to. Nothing like a hint of violence to loosen lips, understand?”

“Y-yes sir. On it, sir.”

“Good. Now, what I can do for you?” He asks turning his attention towards us. “Wait, wait, I see the problem already. Scanners are picking you up as dead.”

“How do you know I’m not just some clone, or merc in a skinsuit?” She asks.

“Give C-SEC some credit. It’s not like we don’t have the most advanced tech in Citadel Space or anything. Probably about the best thing out of this gig. Did Rayla up there give you all the forms you needed to fill out?”

Shepard shrugs. “I guess. Listen, I just need to take care of some stuff out here, is this gonna be a problem?

“Not after I press this button, it won’t. You won’t get anything back that’s already been seized, but you’ll get some credits back out of it.”

“Not much for formalities, I take it?” I say.

“Not if it gets in the way of getting the job done,” Bailey winks at me.

Huh. Had I known that someone like him would’ve risen in the ranks, I might’ve stuck it out with C-SEC. I scan the office, looking for other differences from the past few years. It’s definitely more of a mixed crew these days. Almost half of this sector is made up of humans, probably each with their own idea of justice.

The human influence was likely from the Battle of the Citadel. By then my mind was already made up. Maybe in another lifetime I could have stuck it out here, but then again…likely not.

My thoughts are interrupted by Shepard tugging my arm. “Hey Earth to Garrus, or Palaven, or whatever. Let’s go. I’ve more credits than I thought I would, and my appointment with Anderson’s not for another hour.”

We stroll through the mid-levels, hitting up the stores with Shepard goading the shop keepers into discounts wherever possible. As I inspect a sniper mod at one of the kiosks, I notice her talking to a couple of krogan. Jacob glances at me, concerned, and starts to head over.

“Don’t worry, they’re harmless,” I said. “Believe it or not, she just does that. Approaching people, offering unsolicited advice, that kind of thing.”

“Didn’t know she was such a busybody. She always seems like she keeps to herself,” Jacob says, watching her. By this point, one of her new companions appears saddened, while she and the other one are talking and gesticulating wildly. I turn back to the kiosk.

“She keeps to herself in that you’re not the one asking questions. How much has she talked about herself to you versus the other way around?”

“Good point, I guess,” Jacob says. _Hmm, so not confiding in strangers at least._ “Hell, Miranda’s probably the only one that has a bead on her, in that case. And they’re oil and water.”

“So why Cerberus?” I ask, feeling the weight of an SMG. Decent balance and light enough for her, perhaps.

“Truthfully? Man if it wasn’t for Miranda, I wouldn’t have even bothered. But it’s a chance to make a difference even if it’s with someone like them. Council was actively ignoring the Reapers and the Alliance wasn’t much better. That and y’know, Shepard.”

“A magnet for dangerous women, then?”

“Hah, I guess you could say that.”

Reasonable enough answers. Cerberus definitely stacked the number of people not willing to fully trust in the doctrine. If they weren’t loyal to the organization, what was their angle?

At that, Shepard marches back over to us. I put in the order on the kiosk and follow her to the next store on our list. As we head downstairs, Shepard talks animatedly about her conversation with the krogan, and asks what kind of mods we picked out.

_“Miss Shepard, a woman of your beauty deserves the finest in biotic technology. The next time you’re out on the town with Officer Vakarian, the new Sophist biotic amplifier from the Serrice Council is the perfect accessory.”_

“Oh my lord,” Shepard grumbles. “Those things creep me out. How does it even know I’m a biotic? How does it even know names?”

“It uses biometrics and a slew of other identifiers and inputs to determine that. Not a surprise it picked Vakarian up too,” Jacob says.

Shepard gapes at me for a second, then looks back at him. “Jacob, it’s a Sophist model,” her voice edging on a warning. He doesn’t respond, but gives her a look I can’t quite discern. Whatever she saw in it, though makes her clamp shut and say “Let’s keep moving.”

We finish up the shopping in silence after that, with Shepard constantly checking the time on her omni-tool. Finally, I ask, “So I know I’m no biotic, but could either of you tell me what’s so important about the Sophist model?”

Just then her omni-tool pings. “Would you look at the time! Guys it’s been fun, but I’ve gotta catch up with my three best friends. Meet me at Dark Star in an hour if you feel like it. I’ve a good feeling I’ll need to drown the bullshit from my brain. And with that, I should go.”

She marches toward the rapid transit before we give any response.

Jacob stifles a laugh. “Sorry, man. Best answer for that is on the extranet. All I’ll say is, not my style.”

“Fair enough…”

“Listen, I hate to ditch out on some much needed shore leave, but I kinda want to see what these babies can do.” He holds up some pistol upgrades. “I’mma head back to the ship, put these together, and maybe hit up the arena afterwards. You and Shepard have fun, alright?”

I nod in agreement as Jacob turns to leave. Not really seeing what the issue was, I look up the amp on the extranet and…

That’s why she was so jumpy. _Humans_. I roll my eyes; I’ll badger her about it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard was really jazzed about seeing krogan on the Citadel.


	7. Complacency and the Spurned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard tries to appeal to the Council, and Garrus just wants some hot wings.

**Shepard**

I beat feet to the rapid transit, more than happy to avoid _that_ awkward conversation. Once inside the skycar, I think over what I’m going to say, hoping against hope that the rest of the Council will hear me out.

It sounds farfetched in my head. What the hell am I supposed to say? _Oh hey, sorry I’ve been dead for a bit, but Cerberus and Pals cleared that right up for me! Give me an army pretty please?_ Against my instincts, I’ll try to be nice this time. They need at least that if I’m going to get anywhere with them.

The skycar stops at the Presidium, and I take in the scenery of the cheery, seemingly infinite blue sky. The place is as beautiful as ever, and reminds me of the first time I set foot on the station. There’s a lot less security in this section than the Wards, as usual. It’s strange they hadn’t thought to change that, since it was the tower that Saren hit the hardest.

The Presidium made up the center ring of the space station, and the central hub of all space-faring species invited to join the Council. More credits moved through this section than all five arms, the Wards, combined. The lakes and the day/night cycles alone cost millions to maintain, and every few years, the flora was switched out to represent the Council’s home planet. We were still seeing the asari home world Thessia’s flowers, with vibrant pinks and sunset oranges.

The human embassy moved, likely due to our new role on the Council. It’s in a favorable area now, close to commerce frequented by the wealthy. It makes me wonder what someone as down to earth as Anderson makes of all of this.

I head to the office of Councilor David Anderson, former Alliance brass, but only in title. He’s been more than a mentor; he’s a family friend, and will always be my CO. I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve had hero worship for the man ever since I saw him board my mom’s ship. I couldn’t have been more than twelve when I marched right up to him, gave him my best salute and informed him that I was going to be an N7 just like him. When he asked me why, I said because I’m tougher than all the other boys and I like red.

Good reasons for a kid, and still true today.

The Anderson I see now isn’t the young graduate I introduced myself to, nor is he the intimidating figure I served under. Instead I see a friend tired of the avalanche of bullshit before him. And from what it looks like, another pile of it is in the works.

“Oh, Commander. We were just talking about you.”

“It’s been awhile, Anderson. I hope the past years have been good for you,” I say brightly.

“It’s been a little rough, but it’s good to have you back,” he replies.

“We have heard some disturbing reports, Commander,” the salarian councilor chimes in. “Namely involving your unexpected return.”

“We called this meeting so that you would have a chance to explain your actions,” Tevos continues. “We owe you that much for saving our lives against the geth invasion.”

_So three lives saved from the Reapers, at the expense of countless humans, means one holo-call. Cute._

Biting my tongue for now. “I have confirmed that Collectors have been abducting human colonists in the Terminus Systems, some in the thousands if not more. We believe they’re working with the Reapers. I’m requesting aide from the Council to help humanity.”

“The Terminus Systems are beyond our jurisdiction. You humans knew that before you left Council space,” Sparatus growls.

“You’re missing the real point, Councilor,” Anderson interjects. “The Reapers are involved on this.”

“Ah yes, ‘Reapers.’” And the smug bastard air quotes. “The immortal race of sentient starships waiting in dark space. We have dismissed this claim.”

“ _What._ ” I splutter.

Before I set off an intergalactic incident, Anderson pulls me aside, voice low. “This is what I’m talking about, Shepard. Now I believe you, but without proof, the claim becomes far-fetched. They needed more than your suit recordings to confirm your findings on something this big.”

“Are you kidding me!?” I hiss. “Remember when I said that in order for them to believe me, Sovereign itself would have to do a soft shoe right into the Citadel Tower? Remember when that’s exactly what _happened!?_ ”

“I know,” he says mournfully. “But only you and your crew ever actually spoke with Sovereign. We would need evidence from another source.”

I turn back to the Council. “What about the VI on Ilos? Were you able to recover it?”

“It was too badly damaged to gain any information from it,” the salarian says simply.

“What about the tech that came off of Sovereign? A rudimentary search lets you know how much more advanced it was than any other machines we’ve encountered.”

“There’s nothing that suggests that claim.”

“You must understand, Commander, the geth have had time to evolve and advance just as organics would. It is reasonable to believe they could be this advanced,” Tevos intones. “This is also the most likely reason Saren recruited them.”

“Councilor Tevos, you make a great point. However,” I continue. “Why would the geth in turn follow Saren? He’s an organic, there would be no logical reason to do so.”

“Saren was very charismatic, Commander. He may have led the geth to believe the Reapers existed, just as he convinced you.”

_What the hell does charisma have to do with anything to a damn geth!? They are machines, tin cans, they do not fall prey to demagogues!_

“I don’t know how charismatic you can be with a bullet in your head,” I remark.

“This just proves how fragile your little Reaper theory is,” Sparatus snaps. “He used the geth to invade the Citadel using a geth flagship.”

“Yeah, I remember. That was the same day I sacrificed our men and women to save your damn lives!”

“And now you’re working with a known terrorist group, an enemy to the Council. We’re grateful for your races’ support, but we’re in a difficult position,” Tevos sighs. “By all accounts this would be considered an act of treason.”

“No! I will not let this continue. The Commander is a hero, and I won’t let that be ignored, nor will I let this whitewashing continue,” Anderson says firmly.

“Perhaps if you keep to the Terminus, and maintain a low profile, we can reinstate your Spectre status,” Sparatus says. “It will not be a public endorsement or acknowledgement, but it’s more than fair given the circumstances.”

I look at Anderson. He nods to me, eyes full of sadness and rage, and I know I might as well be looking in a mirror. Exhaling slowly, I face the Council again.

“I accept. I will act as you have requested, and perform this investigation discreetly.”

I don’t bother listening to the rest and I slump heavily into one of the office chairs. A moment later, Anderson sits across from me and sighs.

“It went better than expected, Shepard. But it’s mostly symbolic.”

“Yeah. I don’t wanna make your job any harder. If that’s what you’ve been dealing with all this time, then damn do I owe you a drink.”

He chuckles. “It’s quite alright. It’s not what I expected out of my twilight years, but we’ve all got our battlegrounds.”

“So,” I start. “Have you uh, heard any intel on any of my old squad?”

He gives me a pained expression. “No. And even if I did my hands would be tied. I’m sorry, Shepard.”

“Yeah. Ok,” I say neutrally. “Well, Spectre status reinstated, the Alliance and Council going dark on me, and the Reapers don’t exist. A day in the life, Anderson.”

“I know that tone. Don’t get discouraged. I’ll do everything that I can from here. You just do me a favor and be careful out there, ok?”

“Will do.” I rise again, and give Anderson a hug. “If you can, at least tell my mom I said …hi. She’d probably be happier to hear from you than me though,” I grin sheepishly.

“That shows how much you know her. I’ll see what I can do.”

 I head towards the door, and just barely bump into Udina on my way out. I was still pissed at the ambassador for grounding the _Normandy_ just before we hit Ilos. I did _not_ want to make this day worse.

“Shepard? What are you doing here?”

“Leaving on Spectre business,” I say curtly and flick him a V.

**~*~**

First order of Spectre business is locating the bottom of a glass. Pure reconnaissance. I went back to the ship to drop off my uniform and blend in for a change. I put on one of the few civilian outfits Cerberus provided; jeans, tank top, and jacket. I let my hair loose to hide as much of the scars as possible, for what good it’ll do.

I don’t see any sign of my crewmates. Just as well, since I need time alone to mull over what happened, and try to figure out a course of action.

My Spectre status was reinstated, which gives me autonomy. Not much else, since the Council will treat me like a strange bedfellow throughout this mission. Which leads into Cerberus. The knife is there somewhere, but I have to figure out how, and when. I know that if the Illusive Man had things exactly his way, I’d do whatever he told me to. But why send me and who knows how many others on a suicide mission?

There’s bound to be something more to it, but I can’t quite suss it out. He couldn’t order a different cell to do this and get the same results, maybe. Or maybe since I died I’d be more off the grid anyway. God, I wish I knew.

A dual-toned voice shakes me out of my thoughts. “You’ve been nursing that one for a while there. Not to your liking?”

I look up at the bartender. A turian, tan-plated with white colony markings. Seems friendly enough, and a helluva lot nicer than Sparatus. _No voice like Garrus, though._

…The hell?

“Ah, nah it’s fine. Just a hard work day is all. How’s about you?”

“Me, I’m just serving drinks. But if you came here to get a load off, you came to the right place. I serve the best damn drinks on the Citadel, and the music’s not bad either.”

“Hah,” I snicker. “Say, I gotta ask. Two seconds in and you’re bragging. Is that a turian thing or a guy thing?”

“Yes.”

“Hahahaha, fair enough. Alright,” I say, downing the last of my drink. “Hit me with the good stuff.”

“You got it, sister.”

 

**Garrus**

I opted for casual, though it felt almost naked, too vulnerable for what I remember of this place. Part of me wished I could be naïve enough to think that maybe the Citadel _was_ better, but I worked here. At least with Omega, you didn’t have to worry about filing a report for killing a criminal. Here, they’d gut you and be in the next galaxy by the time the data was saved.

I make my way to Dark Star, grimly aware that damn near every bar I’ve been to has had at least one shoot-out. Dark Star was no different. It was certainly no Chora’s Den, but trouble tends to follow Shepard. I pat my sidearm for reassurance, then walk in.

At first glance, I don’t see her. I check the omni-tool, and sure enough, it’s about fifteen after when she said she’d be here. I head to the bar and sit a few stools away from the end, checking the door.

“Do it!” I hear an all-too-familiar belligerent battle cry. Uh oh.

“Ok, for you, something special. This ryncol will make you set off radiological alarms after you drink it. You got the quads?

“Hell yeah,” Shepard slurs. “Put more of the stuff in the… the thing more stuff goes in.”

Ahh hell. I get up and grab Shepard just in time for her to lose her balance. “I got her from here,” I say.

“Hey, you happen to be Garrus?” The bartender asks. “If so then, apparently you owe her one for scaring her shitless.”

“Noted,” I say flatly, hoisting the now deadweight woman up. “Shepard, can you give a little help?”

“If did that, I wouldn’t be Council, amiright?” She starts giggling at her own joke. “M’ ok, though. Lissen, the biotics,” she taps the back of her head, “clear it all up in a jiffy.”

“What’s a jiffy?”

“It’s fast, quick. The opposite. Of slow.”

“Got it. Do you want to go back to the ship?”

“Hell no. We’re having a night on the town. Celebrate. I’mma Spectre again.” She rolls her eyes, taking her entire head along. She twirls her free hand towards the upstairs portion. “C’mon, I’ll tell ya all about it.”

Surprisingly we make it up the stairs in one piece, and true to her word, she feels a little sturdier under my arm. I guide her into a booth and sit in beside her, trying my damnedest to keep her among the awake. She leans back against the seat, then slumps over onto my shoulder.

“So if you’re a Spectre again, what’s got you tying one on tonight?” I ask, shifting her a little so that she’s at least a little more comfortable.

“That’s all the Council’s gonna do. Sparatus ‘air-quoted’ me again,” she mimics the gesture, “and Anderson’s stonewalling me. He’s the only one that believes the threat, and he’s locking me out.”

“That’s about expected. At least the Spectre part is good news.”

“I know, I know. Hey, y’hungry? I shouldn’t’ve drank on an empty stomach. Think this place has dual-chiril… Dual shrill… Dextro shit.”

I stifle a laugh. “Sure,” I say, and I look around for any kind of menu. An asari wait staff sees me, and hands over a couple of menus. I hand one over to Shepard and give her another nudge. “Hey, here.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she stares intently at the menu. “Jacob not coming, I take it.” She says it less as a question and more as a fact.

“Yeah. Said he wanted to check out the weapon mods, and maybe hit up Armax.”

“Mmm. Good.” Her eyes don’t leave the menu, and it’s clear she’s not really looking at it.

“Forget how to read?” I joke.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m getting a burger and another drink, safer one.” She looks at me matter-of-factly. “Garrus, we’re not ready.”

“Ready for what?” I punch in our orders, and set our menus to the side. The movement causes her to shift her weight off of me and lean back against the booth.

“The Reapers. I mean, do you still believe?” She tilts her head my way, eyes full of sadness.

“Course I do. I saw it for myself. The beacon on Virmire, and Vigil on Ilos made it pretty damn clear. Don’t know what else you expected out of the Council, but they’re a complacent bunch.”

“I don’t know what else I can do to convince them. I’d have Tevos look in my memories like Liara did, but damn asari mess with my head.”

“Didn’t you have a run-in with the consort? I figured you’d be used to that by now,” I tease, nudging her with my knee.

“Ahhhh, you remember that? So not my thing.”

“Not into asari? They seem to like you.”

“Nothing against em, I’m just more of a man kind of girl. I know they’re mono-gender and all, but they look too much like blue chicks for me to see anything else. What about you? Ever get up in one?” She gives me a roguish wink.

“Nah. A little too blue for my tastes. Most turians like neutral colors. Beiges, browns, the occasional silver.”

Just then the asari waiter comes back with our order. Shepard starts in immediately, almost ignoring her drink. I eat my fried louza wings, immediately grateful that it’s not anything Gardner cooked up. I hope the new rations will do the trick. We eat in companionable silence, but the uncertainty earlier resonates with me.

Are we even close to prepared? Of course not, how can we prepare for something when we don’t even know the scale? Sovereign was just one vanguard, and it almost decimated the Citadel. Our odds are slim at best.

“So any ideas other than sleeping with asari councilors?” I ask.

“It’s not exactly sleeping with them from what I understand, but whatever. The best we can hope for is uniting the races. But that means convincing the races. That’s gonna be near impossible, though.”

“Just shout down the galaxy like you normally do,” I say firmly. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

“You really do bet on me, huh,” she says, a wry smile on her face.

“You only lose me money once or twice, but this I’d definitely bet on.”

“Thanks,” she says. “But I don’t see how. I’m still just a soldier, and apparently a stonewalled one at that. Guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing, scream and shout till my face turns blue.”

At that she slides out of the booth, meal finished. As she stretches, it finally occurred to me why I didn’t recognize her at first.

“Hey your hair is down,” I remark. “It looks interesting like that.”

“You like it? It’s a tactical disadvantage, though. Unless of course you’re getting drunk in a bar.” She grins at me while reaching for her drink. “Which I’m not anymore. Time to fix that.”

“You’ve never recovered that quickly before. So what, you want to go for round two? A little more practically at least?” I finish my drink.

She checks her omni-tool. “Yeah, I’m game if you are. You owe me a drink anyway.”

“Your friend downstairs said as much. Said you were ‘scared shitless,’” I tease.

“Piss off Vakarian, you’re not gonna get me sentimental tonight, you’re gonna get me comfortably drunk,” she says sharply. “Let’s just say that sometimes I care, alright?”

We head back downstairs to the bar trading jabs and insults. I order us a Heat Sink and Memory Stealer while Shepard bobs her head to the music. When she gets her drink, she downs it in one.

“You ever miss it here?” She yells above the music.

“I can’t say that I do to be honest,” I shout back. “Too much red tape, even as a Spectre. View’s still nice at least.”

“You’re probably right, but I could see coming back here to stay. Someday.” She looks around a little bit. “I’m gonna dance.”

“Aw hell, Shepard you’re terrible at it.”

She just winks at me and heads toward the dance floor. I watch her from the bar, and sure enough, she’s already starting in on some truly bizarre fits. But somehow in civilian clothes it doesn’t look all that bad.

It was oddly relaxing, seeing her like this. Sure she’s worried, but it’s these moments that make what we’re fighting for worth saving. I allow myself to enjoy the spectacle, and damn, something about her… What is she doing with her arms? She looks across at me, lips stretched into a wide smile. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her smile like that. I finish the rest of my drink, comfortably buzzed. A pretty good night after all.

The last refrains of the song ends, and she steps off the dance floor. She heads towards the exit, waiting on me to follow suit. I oblige, and she rests a hand on the small of my back.

“That was fun, yeah?” She says.

I stiffen sharply at her touch. “Yeah,” I say, gently removing her hand. “Careful, though. Wouldn’t want to give the wrong idea.”

“Huh? What are you getting at?” She says blankly. “Are backs a thing or something?”

“Waists in general are. It’s a turian thing.” Ok, so she didn’t know. Good, I suppose.

“Well ok then. Let’s head back. I wanna see about these other two recruits sooner rather than later.” She flashes a smile, which fades once the _Normandy_ comes into view. She hesitates, then opts to lean on the rail overlooking the docks.

“Just a turian thing, huh?” She asks, giving me a very odd look.

I look at her, puzzled. Before I can answer, she pushes off from the railing and heads toward the ship. I follow behind. _I can just ask her about it later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannah Shepard and David Anderson served in the First Contact War together under Major Tipkins. They remained friends after that, and it was under Anderson's recommendation that our protagonist join the N7 program.


	8. Jack of All Trades and a Master of Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard figures being cryo'd without a shirt on would make anyone irritable. Garrus is a fan of techno music.

**Garrus**

“I’LL KILL YOU ALL!”

Spirits. If I ever thought Shepard was crazy, she didn’t have anything on this one.

This, unlike Shepard’s plague zone debacle, was supposed to be a calm, albeit dubious cash in and pick-up. No one bothered to explain why we were recruiting a freeze-dried convict, but then again, it wasn’t my credits. One minute, I was admiring the necessity of the facility, the next, we’re in yet another gunfight.

Our “package” was allegedly the most dangerous prisoner in Purgatory. The way the guards and inmates tell it, the prisoner was the meanest son of a bitch they’d ever run across. For the safety of everyone else, they put “Jack” in cryogenic lockdown. The menace wound up being yet another unstable tiny biotic woman with a mouth that would make a krogan blush. Said menace also just crashed through the walls, three YMIR mechs, and about six guards. I can still hear her rampaging off in the distance.

“Shepard, you _never_ take me anywhere nice!” I shout over the alarms.

“What are you talking about? I thought you’d like a prison! It’s got justice and bullets! You like justice and bullets, right? Let’s finish off these mechs!” She signals as we run to cover.

“You literally just released all the prisoners! How’s that justice!?”

“The...poetic kind?” She shrugs behind a crate.

“Can we please just try to catch up with her? I don’t want to think this was all for naught,” Miranda says in a clipped tone. “It’s bad enough things didn’t go as planned.”

Not as planned. Definitely one of the many understatements Miranda appeared capable of. She deftly handed over an obscene amount of credits to Kuril. Upon seeing Shepard alive, he got greedy and tried to capture her for ransom. This of course went well for no one, least of all Kuril, and I found myself wondering just what was it about our merry little band that attracted trouble.

“Aww Miranda you gotta admit, this time I really tried to do it by the book,” Shepard grinned under her visor. “Cock-ups like this are old hat by now.”

“Do you expect me to believe that all of your missions become this complicated!?”

“Yes,” I deadpan.

“Not all of them!” Shepard laughs, firing several shots of dark energy.

“What about Sigma-23?” I grin, setting up an overload on Shepard’s signal. Miranda looks absolutely scandalized at this. Guess someone didn’t read Shepard’s mission reports very carefully.

“Bombs are _never_ complicated!” Shepard shouts back, clearly enjoying herself. “Now!”

The familiar electronic crackle emits from our omni-tools, toppling the LOKI guards. Shepard signals us to cover her while she scans the perimeter.

“Garrus, if you’re gonna play music, put on something cooler. Something a little less patriotic,” she says, not hiding the humor in her voice.

I smirk at that. It's an old joke, born from an accident a lifetime ago. I link my visor to the comm and select a song from my firefight playlist. As she takes point, I recall old times.

_Shepard drives the Mako unusually slow down the skyway, knowing that no amount of thrusters would cushion our fall. She’s also taken to fighting the geth on foot, which could equally be caution or reckless. Neither would surprise me._

_Snipers all have a habit. A superstition to keep them patient while they line up a shot, and I was no different. For me there’s nothing better than music with a solid bass. When we leave the Mako for the thousandth time today, I put on a familiar track._

_“Do you guys...hear music?” Tali asks as she shoots the last geth trooper._

_Oh no._

_“Dammit, you can hear me?” Shepard asks, uncertainty in her voice._

_“Commander she uh, might mean me.”_

_“Keelah, you both–? Who’s the Fleet and Flotilla fan? That’s the one I hear.”_

_“That would be me,” I say._

_“What’s Fleet and Flotilla?” Shepard asks._

_“You’ve_ never _seen Fleet and Flotilla!? Honestly, Shepard, when we get back to the_ Normandy _, we have to get you up to date. Even Garrus has clearly seen it, and I would never have pegged him as a romantic.”_

_“It’s not a romantic movie, it’s more action-oriented than anything,” I groan._

_“Garrus, how could you say that? It is such a romantic movie.”_

_“Uh-huh,” Shepard smiles. “Ok, now I’m curious. I’ll take you up on watching this…vid? Vid.” She grins a little wider at me and Tali. “Call it cultural exchange.”_

_“Shepard, I’m actually curious about your music now,” Tali says, voice clearly amused. “Humans are still so new, we have no idea what you listen to.”_

_“Ah,” she stammers. “We… humans have all kinds of music, so don’t take my tastes as gospel...”_

_Wait, is Shepard nervous? Well I’ll be damn. Face down a Colossus without a second thought. Talk her into playing Earth music, and she’s a fidgeting mess._

_“Here goes.”_

_“Shepard, this isn’t what I expected! It sounds like a cross between Chora’s Den and geth chatter! What is this even?”_

_“Hey! No teasing! I will pull rank if I have to,” she says, fighting back a smile._

Miranda looks at me curiously, likely wondering what the hell these lunatics are talking about. Abjectly, I alter my comm to include her on the music channel. She looks confused, then glances over at Shepard hitting her thigh in time. Miranda looks back at me, and I can’t help but flash a thumbs-up at her. She shakes her head, but her lips turn upward ever so slightly.

We continue to follow the trail of the very destructive and clearly pissed biotic. We make our way to the downstairs corridor, stepping over wardens and criminals alike, only to find several incapacitated guards, an inexplicable fire, and an enraged, tiny half-dressed woman. She’s got enough ink to represent every turian colony ever formed, and just looking at them all is an assault on my eyes.

“I’ll handle this,” Shepard says with an easy smile. The kind of smile that conditioned me to double-check our Medigel.

 

**Shepard**

“Trust!? You come in on a Cerberus frigate, and you expect me to follow you!? Fuck that!” The dossier said the woman would be younger, but biotics have a way of preserving youthful looks. This tiny little white girl was covered in tattoos and not much else. Like walking, cursing graffiti ripped from the streets of Rio.

I prepare my best thousand-yard stare. I actually kinda like this woman, but there’s no way I’ll admit that yet. “I don’t expect you to follow me. I get it. But I do expect anyone with two brain cells to rub together to get off this smoking palace. Lucky for you, I’ve got the _only_ ship that can get us out. So unless you can taxi out of here on your own, looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“Not good enough,” Jack says. “You want me on that ship, you better make it worth my while.”

Negotiation. Fucking aces, I’m in. “Talk to me.”

“That ship is bound to be crawling with Cerberus files. You get me access to those files, and I might not cut your cheerleader and make off with your ship.”

I glance over at Miranda, who has the good sense to not immediate fume at this comment. “I at least have nothing to hide. You’ll get your files. Do we have a deal?”

“You...you can’t do that! You don’t have the authority!” Miranda blurts out.

“My ship, my rules, Miranda.”

Jack seems to consider this, searching my face for any lies. I stand my ground, because in truth I _don’t_ have anything to hide. And anyone as suspicious as Jack is some enemy of my enemy crap. She steals a glance at Miranda, Garrus, and out the window again. She sighs a swear, and says, “Ok. Fuck, why are we still here.”

“Let’s move out,” I smile to Miranda, who _is_ fuming now, and give a quick nod to Garrus.

**~*~**

Once we get back to the ship, I quickly debrief, order access to the files for Jack, and get settled back in. I make my chat rounds as usual, then contemplate on whether I want to deal with Jack, check in on Garrus, or do damage control with Miranda.

I opt for the former.

I make my way down to the hold. Jack appeared to waste no time in accessing and scouring through the Cerberus files. She turns a cold stare my way as I approach.

“Hey,” she says, a ghost of a challenge.

“Hang on.” I motion for pause, then overload the area. No tell-tale squeal of bugs powering down. _Good. She’s learning._ Jack looks at me with mild surprise and I tap my ear in response. “Other than EDI recording everything anyway, we should be safe to chat. And even then, I gave her strict orders on privacy. So,” I smirk. “I wanna know what made a chick like you hate Cerberus as much as I do?”

The surprise on her face doubles. “They...I was their lab rat when I was a kid. Locked in some facility for most of my life. They tortured me. I escaped.” She turns to me, half rage half smug. “That little display back there? Imagine _that_ times ten. Guards, other kids. Anyone in my way I killed to get out of there.”

“Another fucking Cerberus lab,” I spit. “They have a habit of dying from their own experiments.” _Or by my own hand, but who’s counting._

She looks at me confused. “If you can’t stand em, why are you with them!? They’ve done too much fucked up shit for anyone to work for them willingly!”

“I know. Hell, I’m one of the fucked up things. But there’s a bigger picture to look at. As soon as this mission is over, Cerberus can kindly kiss my ass.”

Jack lets a small smile escape at that. “Whatever, _ma’am_. And then what? You gonna steal this ship and go pirate?”

“In another lifetime maybe. But for now we stick to the mission. We play along, find out about the colonies, then when this is all over blowing shit to kingdom come.”

“Alright. You got yourself a deal,” Jack grins.

I leave, and make my way back to the elevator, pinging Garrus as I walk.

_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_

_Hey G. Observation deck has a bar. Meet in 30? Counts as somewhere nice._

_VS  
_ =-=-=-=-=-=-=

I head to Miranda’s office. I haven’t wanted to deal with her yet, but the black and yellow elephant is cramping the room. Honestly, ever since she admitted she’d rather control me like a Shepard-shaped meat puppet, my mood with her ranged between mildly irritated to wildly creeped out.

But since they brought me back, I gotta swallow some of that down and try to see what makes her tick. Or at least make nice enough that she doesn’t slit my cranium open in my sleep.

I enter her office and see her diligently pecking away at her consoles. Likely full reports to the Illusive Man of all my impressive feats of absurdities. “Hello, Miranda. Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Of course, Commander. I was just finishing up these reports to the Illusive Man.” Fucking of course.

“So I’ll be frank,” I start. “You seem talented. Hell, you manned a project that brought me back from meat and tubes, and you’re good for field work. Trite as it sounds, but you could be anything you wanted. So why in God’s name are you aligned with a terrorist organization?”

“We’re not all bad, Shepard. Why can’t you use your second chance to give us one?”

“I… I can’t. This is as far as I can let myself, not without at least one good reason.” I look at her pointedly. “But that doesn’t answer my question. What are you in this for? And if your answer’s good enough... well, no promises, but fucking dazzle me.”

“Well when you put it that way, I suppose you deserve to know...” She trails off, as if trying to decide something. “My father created me. I’m genetically modified to be given an edge in everything. Biotics, longevity, even looks. On top of that, my father subjected me to grueling training, expecting nothing but peak perfection. He was, _is_ , very controlling and influential. I ran away as soon as I was brave enough, and went to Cerberus because they could protect me.”

“Ran away? How bad are we talking here?”

“Shots were fired.”

“That’s...damn. Ok, so Cerberus protects you from your father, and that gets your upmost loyalty? I know he’s your dad, but if you’re at the point he’s trying to kill you, a bullet would solve everything without resorting to a terrorist group.”

“Shepard you don’t understand,” Miranda says, with a hint of protest in her voice. “He’s a very, _very_ influential man, so a ‘quick death’ is absurd. And Cerberus does do _some good_. They were able to give me purpose, something I hadn’t had before. I hope one day you can believe that.”

“I’ve seen too many of their experiments to be as rock-steady about that.” _And yet I’m here, and I_ feel _normal._ I sigh. “For now we work together, save these colonies and keep each other safe. That’s your new purpose. And who knows, maybe you can believe what _I’m_ saying.”

“Here’s to agreeing to disagreeing then. At least for now.” She smiles on my way out.

**~*~**

When I make it to the deck, Garrus is already there, ingredients set out for a Heat Sink.

“Hey, Shepard.”

“Hey yourself. You get settled in?”

“I’ve managed,” he says, shaking the ingredients. “Did you have fun playing warden?”

“Hah. That one. I like her. She’s seems like my kind of gal.”

“ _Her?_ Shepard I’m sorry, but she’s a dangerous lunatic. She’s a walking headache with all those tattoos.”

He’s never liked criminals, but he’s been even harder on them now, I guess since he spent the last two years killing them with reckless abandon. The irony still seems lost on him, since he was arguably a criminal himself. He was a hotheaded idealist before, but I’m not sure of the man I’m looking at now.

“She’s a dangerous lunatic with a chip on her shoulder regarding Cerberus,” I correct him. “Anyone who’s down for killing Collectors _and_ blowing this popsicle stand when we’re done is aces in my book.”

“Her as a long-term ally, though? That’s a tough one, even for you.” He shakes his head in disbelief, and heads towards the couch. “She seems like the type that will bolt as soon as the mission’s done, if not sooner. But it’s your call. Just...watch her.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about her.” I grab a beer from the bar, and follow Garrus to the couch overlooking space. “Besides, what’s one tatted-up gunslinger versus another? You turned out.”

“Aww, you do care.”

“Of course I care, Garrus,” I smile, looking at him. “Having cannon fodder helps even the odds.”

He considers me for a bit before responding. “Cannon fodder, now? Is that what I’m signing up for? Most people at least keep me around for my aim and good looks.”

“That’s auxiliary.”

“Wounded pride yet again,” he laments. “But still, it’s good to be back, Shepard.” And swear his voice dropped an octave just then. But there’s something in that admission that almost makes me feel right again, and that everything’s going to be ok. Offhand, I also notice how blue his eyes and colony markings are, and how intense his predatory gaze can be.

“Agreed,” I say back. “Now we’ve got what, two years’ worth of each other’s culture to make fun of. Where do we start?” I activate my omni-tool to pull up the extranet.

“I’ve got something better. Some truly awful movies came about after Saren. I want to see you make fun of...well, you.”

“Oh ho ho ho no, really? Ok, you’re on.” With that, I settle in beside him, thoroughly content with the day’s events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard discovered the Sigma-23 signal after she got her scar on Noveria. She was more than happy to blow the station up.


	9. No One Likes Snow Globes, Either

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard is a bit of a moral nihilist, a trait that has only gotten stronger since working with other sentient beings.

**Shepard**

“It’s just as well we didn’t get Okeer,” I say during the debrief with Miranda and Jacob. “The doctrine he spouted off was too ‘purify the race’ for my tastes.”

Krogan Hitler, more like. There was always a damn catch with these pick-up missions, and this was no exception. The idea was to pick up one of the few krogan scientists in existence, recruit him to the cause, and get more brains on this mission. It would have been useful; Mordin was still researching a way to counteract the seeker swarm’s stasis effect. And he was still a krogan. Someone with brains with brawn to match.

Unfortunately, his lab got gassed all to hell, and instead of having a shred of self-preservation, he left us with the largest decorative paperweight yet: a full-grown, genetically perfect krogan warrior. Just as well. The things he said, and the lengths he went to produce what he did… I wouldn’t have been able to trust him.

“And it’s for that reason I’m concerned about waking it,” Miranda retorts, pacing around the conference table. “Okeer was a madman, there’s no telling what was imprinted on that krogan.”

Jacob slouches against the back wall. Damn. He must really be tired if he’s allowing himself to look that sloppy. “Miranda, you may have said that. A few times,” he says, clearly exasperated.

“Because it apparently bears repeating.”

“Aww c’mon, Miranda. What’s the worst that could happen? He could be a valuable asset,” I coax.

“What’s the wors– Shepard, are you completely insane!? That _krogan_ was genetically bred to be perfect. No weaknesses, keener reflexes, better regen. Their regular ilk are already nothing to tangle with, and there’s no telling what’s going on in that head of his!”

Jacob eyes her contemptuously. “Miranda, in the end it’s the Commander’s decision. If she wants to unleash a metric ton of fury on the ship, then so be it. Worst case scenario, we toss it out the airlock. Best case scenario, you can talk it to death about genetic perfection.”

_Oh shit._

“ _Fine_ ,” Miranda says icily. “Shepard, I hope you know what you’re getting into with this.”

“Everyone relax. EDI, can you please assure us that the cargo hold can be vented in a timely fashion?”

“The hold can be vented in twenty-eight seconds.”

“See? Nothing to worry about.” I cross my arms confidently.

EDI coolly interjects, “However, there are twenty-four permanent crew aboard the _Normandy_. Should they be in the location while the hold is vented, you would lose 78% efficiency in day-to-day processes.”

“Virtually nothing to worry about.”

“As you say, Commander,” Miranda says formally. “I will defer to your judgement, and make the necessary precautions.”

“Appreciate it. And Miranda? I’ll be careful.” I hold up my right hand, a purple glow lapping around my fingers. The corners of her mouth twitch in relief as she leaves.

I look over at Jacob, who’s still leaning in the corner, regarding the scene with a carefully neutral expression. Given his demeanor so far, this definitely counted as an outburst.  The man is wearing a face like he doesn’t want to talk about it, but wants to fight about it. Maybe a couple of ground missions, or sparring in the arena would do him some good.

Finally, “You know it’s my job to provoke her, not yours, right?”

“With all due respect Commander, I just don’t see the point of debating what bodies we throw the Collectors’ way. If the krogan can point a gun, then let him. The rest’ll sort itself out.”

“An old friend of mine said that every time someone said ‘with all due respect,’ it really meant ‘kiss my ass.’ So whose lips need priming? Hers, mine or the Collectors?”

“The luxury of choice,” he replies. “Ferris Fields got hit. There were some good people stationed on that rock. We’re wasting time and wasting lives in the process.”

That colony’s hitting a few people hard. I’d overheard some of the crew talking about the incident, and I couldn’t help but feel guilty that they had faith that I could do something. We weren’t ready yet, and it was bringing us all down a peg.

“Yeah. I understand that. Mordin’s working as fast as we can, and I will not let us get caught with our pants down. We barely know what we’re dealing with, but it’s gonna be nasty.”

“Fair enough. Don’t mean to make waves, Commander. I’ll talk to Miranda later about it. In the meantime, looks like you left me with some nasty repairs. Were you… pistol-whipping the krogan down there?”

I give him an easy smile. “What can I say? I ran out of thermo-clips.”

He shakes his head and chuckles. “Y’know, most biotics would…I dunno, use biotics in that case. You just look for trouble. Guess I’ll get to it, Commander.” He salutes me on his way out.

 

**~*~**

I enter the cargo hold and look at the krogan nested within the tube. The perfect krogan. Okeer’s misguided legacy. He certainly _looks_ the part. Healthy-looking eyes facing forward and seeing nothing. Scales appear in order, at least for an adolescent. Nothing like the hard, bone-like plating Wrex had. No, that would come later, after a couple centuries of fighting and surviving.

At least, should he be so lucky.

What a goddamn waste. Not just because of the Collector mission, but the risk of the Reapers themselves. How funnily tragic that Okeer spent countless years perfecting this specimen, only for the very real possibility that his life will get snuffed out well before he hit his stride.

But that’s not why we do the things we do, now is it? Wrex is out there fighting the good fight, and he showed me that krogans can be strong. Loyal. Duty-bound. But mostly strong. So… might as well, right?

“EDI, stand by. I’m opening this puppy up.”

“Very well, Shepard. The controls are online. The switch, and consequences, are yours.”

With a definitive hum, the stasis fluids drain from the tank as the pod door opens. The krogan falls out with a thick _plap_ , hacking and coughing through its first breath. His eyes dart about faster than I can comprehend. He sees me.

He charges.

_Shit!_

I hit the cargo lockers, knocking over auxiliary equipment in the process. My eyes spot out in a festival of black and red, and then...I recover.

_Helluva lot faster than that bastard on Therum._

The ‘newborn’ krogan has me against the wall, and eyes me menacingly… no, curiously. I can work with curious. I flair up my biotics and throw him soundly on the other side of the room.

Whoops. That’s...gonna leave a dent.

Instead the goop-covered, extremely powerful kid chuckles, slow and low. He gets back up with ease, and shakes off excess moisture from the tube.

“Human, female. Before I kill you, I need a name.” His voice is deep, rumbling, cultured. Definitely sounds a twinge like Okeer himself.

“My name is Commander Shepard of the _Normandy_ ,” I say, holding up a still-glowing fist.

He scoffs. “Not your name. Mine. I am trained, I know things, but the tank… Okeer couldn’t implant connection. His words are hollow.”

He lumbers toward me, the dark energy effects already shaken off. I try to see if I can bring up a barrier this time and…nope. Crap.

“He spoke of me. Warlord, legacy, grunt,” he continues. “Grunt. ‘Grunt’ was among his last words. It has no meaning. It’ll do. I am Grunt. If you are worth of your command, prove your strength and try to destroy me.”

Without warning, he lunges again. I dodge to the right, just in time. As he reorients himself, I pelt him with another flash of biotics, lighter this time.

“Why do you want me to try to kill you?” I ask, exasperated. Pulling punches with a krogan is harder than flat-out demolishing them, but I need “Grunt” alive and preferably unharmed. And another side of me screams _get wrecked,_ but that’s understandable, right?

“Want?” And bless his minutes-old reality he actually looks confused at the concept. “I do what I am meant to. Fight, and reveal the strongest. Nothing in the tank asked what I wanted. One fight is as good as any other. Might as well start with you.”

“You’re not in the tank anymore. You’ll fight for me. I’m strong, my ship is strong, and we’re fighting the strongest enemies in the galaxy.” I draw up as much of my height to the fledging krogan as I can, biotics swirling and crackling around me. _Damn, I’m getting pretty good at this._

“Hmm.” He regards me, looking for another opening. “Nothing in the tank imprints indicated that humans could be so forceful.”

I crack my neck in response. “Prove that you’re worthy of my command, and I promise nothing but the best in return.”

“Acceptable. I’ll fight for you. And if I find a clan, if I find what I… want, I’ll be honored to eventually pit them against you,” he says with an odd formality.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I watch him settle in, oddly reminded of Wrex when he dismisses me and the conversation with a short, but not curt, “Shepard.”

I leave the cargo hold, thoroughly and wildly…giddy. Maybe he wasn’t attacking at full strength, or full speed, but for whatever reason, I survived a krogan charge, and I’m no worse for wear. Barely even a scratch! With no hardsuit, even. I punch the elevator in for the crew deck and head for the mess.

Gardner was off shift. I rummage through the stores and grab a frozen enchilada packet. As I’m heating it up, I hear distant bickering coming from the elevator.

Sure enough, Jack and Zaeed are both headed toward the mess, arguing over God knows what this time. Likely who has the better kill record, or most explosions dodged.

“You must be one daft bitch to tangle with the goddamn hanar, princess. Anyone who underestimates them has another thing coming every time.”

“Fuck you Massani, and I swear to God if you keep calling me princess, I’ll pull your balls inside out and decorate your hold with em. The big stupid jellyfish had it coming anyway. Believe me, I’d do it all over again, but with an even bigger space station.”

He chuckles. “Could’ve used a destructive little bitch like you on a few of the missions I’ve had. There was this one mission I had in the Krogan DMZ–”

They halt all shit-talking when they see my frown. “Shepard,” they say in unison, looking for all the world like chastised children.

“Hey guys. Glad to see you two getting on.” I give them both a polite nod.

“Shepard, you look like shit. What was that racket a few minutes ago?” Jack asks.

I look down. My entire front is covered with bio-fluid, trace amounts of orange blood, and a couple of small holes. I didn’t notice as first, but my hair fell out of the tidy bun as well. Not the look of a CO.

I dismiss the looks of concern with a wave. “Krogan. Name’s Grunt. He’s nice.”

“Two daft women, then,” Zaeed growls. “Just what the hell could possibly be ‘nice’ about a damn krogan?”

“His regen abilities,” I say dryly. “The little bastard’s tough. Wanna see him in action.”

He shakes his head. These two. I could definitely see the draw of two destructive badasses trash-talking each other. Hell, it might even do them both some good. I finish heating up my meal and head over to one of the mess tables.

“So. Massani, you were talking about the Krogan DMZ? I’ve only ever heard of it, but got a friend there. What was your mission?”

Zaeed pauses in the middle of making his coffee. “Ahh, that story. We took out a lot of krogan that day, but we lost way too many men.”

“I get that,” I say.

“Job came from the Shadow Broker. Some uppity batarian double-crossed him, and was trying to get his hands on some krogan muscle. Orders were to take out the rot bastard, and make an example of any of the followers that he managed to recruit. We hadn’t counted on the batarian being a goddamn charmer, or for that many krogan to be stupid enough to take up arms with him. It was a mess. Got em in the end, though.”

He sits at the table, coffee in hand, and whips out a gunmetal colored flask. I look over at Jack, who’s piling her plate high with waffles. “No love lost for the batarian, then I take it?”

“Don’t care for the lot of em, no. Methods are crude, and slavery’s just the tip of the iceberg. Damn batarian finally broke my dear Jesse. But a job’s a job.”

“I can’t stand slavers,” Jack growls. She stomps to the table and stabs into the waffles, staring down at whatever dark ghost behind that statement.

“You show me anyone who does, love,” Zaeed snaps back. “Don’t think you’re special just because they gave you a story to get pissed about.”

If looks could kill just then. Surprisingly, Jack leaves it at a look, then stabs at her waffles some more. I watch as Zaeed takes a long pull from his flask, then passes it to her. She looks at him like he’s a plague victim, then snatches the flask and takes a pull.

Huh.

“What’s your story, Girl Scout? You act like you get your hands dirty. How much of that is talk?” Jack asks. She looks a little less sullen now.

I chew carefully before answering. “No story to tell, really. Just a soldier in the wrong places at the right times. Done stuff I’m proud of. Done stuff I’m not proud of.”

Jack scoffs, but she’s interrupted before she can launch a verbal assault at me.

“Commander, incoming message from the Illusive Man. Says he finally has some intel for us.”

“About damn time,” Zaeed grumbles.

“Couldn’t agree more. Joker, tell him I’m on my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard still has all those Charm and Intimidate points stashed away.


	10. Horizon's Just Another Line to Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus realize how unprepared they were for this mission.

**Shepard**

When we land on Horizon, we can already see the gargantuan Collector ship looming overhead. It’s twice again larger than any landing vessel I’ve seen, and tugs at the very atmosphere around it. The smell of metal and gunfire linger in the air. Unlike Freedom’s Progress, we may not be too late.

The Illusive Man tipped us off, saying that this was the first time we’d gotten warning this quickly. Unsurprising in a way; the Collectors weren’t following any logical patterns, which almost became a pattern itself. But the kicker was intel that Kaidan’s posted up on this rock.

_It’s no coincidence that Kaidan’s here. First they stonewall me, then send my damn boyfriend to keep tabs?_

I play it safe by splitting us into teams. I take Garrus and Jack for recon, and direct Miranda, Jacob and Grunt to look for survivors. I leave Zaeed with Mordin for support, and I pray that the new shields hold up so I don’t have to risk them being on the field.

The seeker swarms hover inches above us, but don’t attack. I creep onward but the swarms don’t follow. They’re just…lingering. “They aren’t engaging us, Mordin. Is it working?”

“Appears so. Shields should confuse detection, make us invisible to swarms. In theory.”

“In theory? That sounds promising,” Garrus drawls.

In theory it was simple. He used the recordings from Veetor’s omni-tool to check for any audio. From there, he created an upgrade that would send an electromagnetic pulse that emitted the same sound patterns, basically like we were already swarmed. Then with Jack’s help of all people, he figured out a way to strengthen our kinetic barriers against stasis attacks.

“Well the real test comes now,” I say. “We’ve got movement dead ahead, and they don’t look human. Everyone play safe. Jack, with me. Garrus, watch our back.”

We sneak into position as I get a closer look at the creatures. Sure enough, the same bio-mechanical aliens from Veetor’s surveillance are here. Here goes nothing.

I nod to Jack and set off a biotic field towards the closest drone. The rest swarm us, using tech and guns I’d never seen. But without their trump card, these _things_ go down like any other organic we’ve come across.

I move forward, gunning down drones along the way. All clear. A little too clear. Not a human in sight.

“C’mon, let’s keep moving. We’re bound to find someone soon.”

After a couple of skirmishes, we find that someone and my heart sinks. A husk. Some poor human transformed into this abomination, half flesh, half Reaper tech. This only confirms that Reapers are behind this attack. But I don’t see any dragon’s teeth. There were _always_ dragon’s teeth. The ground spikes turn humans into these thing, just like on Eden Prime. But we haven’t run across a single one. This husk isn’t from Horizon.

“It looks like some kinda zombie,” Jack says, kicking at it idly.

“These are different from the ones I fought on Eden Prime.” I say, examining it. “They’re more…human, higher-functioning.” I turn the husk over and look at its lifeless, still-open eyes. They usually glowed a little when they were still ‘alive,’ but this one…there’s something nagging me about them. The weird pronged look of them seems familiar.

“They still die if you shoot them,” Garrus replies.

“True that,” Jack says, already bored of the body.

“You two certainly have the bright side of things down pat,” I comment. “Beta, what’s your status?”

I hear Miranda’s garbled voice. “Sorry… mmander… coul… read… last transmission, repeat? …lost signal…mandy.”

“Dammit! Ok kids, looks like we’re on our own until we get communication back up. Let’s get moving.”

We move past the husk into a small courtyard. It could pass for tranquil save for the pod-like containers. These must house the victims before they’re loaded onto the Collector ship. They’re still empty, and I honestly can’t decide if that’s reassuring.

“All these empty buildings, it’s unsettling,” Garrus says.

“It’s just like on Freedom’s Progress. Barely any sign of a struggle.”

We run into another swarm. We’ve run into so many, yet we haven’t found a single real person. The air only carries the sound of gunfire and the sharp cracks of whatever _they’re_ shooting at us. With the last drone gone, I check over the crew. Jack’s still in the fight, but tired. Garrus I can’t be certain, but he looks creeped out. I don’t blame him.

I’m a bit creeped myself.

Finally, we run into people, in a manner of speaking. They were trapped, almost statue-like, in that same creepy stasis from the feeds. I check their vitals hesitantly. Panic was there, and judging from the body temperature, they’d been in this position for some time. I try moving them, poking even, but they’re stuck. Trapped. And without signal I can’t radio the crew for extraction. I mark their coordinates, hoping we can do a pick-up.

In case we even _get_ communication back up.

 

**Garrus**

We find and tag more victims and make our way into another clearing. Several more drones appear, _flying_ in like damn insects. Shepard signals us to position, but the place is too damn flat to get a decent bead.

“There’s a building a little to the left I can get in. Heading there now.”

“Affirmative. Covering.”

_“I AM ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL”_

Suddenly, one of the drones appears to crack and break under some kind of internal light. _What the hell?_ The lightshow dims, and the biometrics on the drone spike dramatically. I run to position while Shepard and the criminal take out the new threat.

By the time I make it to the building, the duo has already taken it down. I focus on taking out the other drones to my left, when one of them glows and breaks _again_ , spewing more taunts.

_“YOU WILL REGRET YOUR RESISTANCE, SHEPARD.”_

It knows her name? I peer down at Shepard, her mouth snarled back in fear and anger. And this glowing bastard is closing in on her. No time. I line my shot.

It’s too close to her.

_Crap._

Between the three of us, we get rid of it again, and go after the rest of the drones. Through my scope, I see another drone transform, nearly blinding me in the close view. My visor warns me that Shepard heart rate is speeding up. When I check her through the scope, her shots are going wide, and her biotics seem more scrambled.

Once the last drone is destroyed, I take position back to her. Heavy breathing, and she’s clutching her arm a little too hard. Her expression is stony, doesn’t speak, opting to signal us onward instead.

The Reapers have a good tactic, however grim. Turn it into a psychological battleground, and even the toughest will hesitate, even if slightly. I can’t help but get angry that Shepard’s falling prey to it, and that I’m powerless to stop it.

“You ok?” I ask.

“No. Let’s keep moving.”

 

**~*~**

We hack our way into a prefab and on entering hear a desperate, scurrying sound. Rather than hunt down the noise, Shepard calls out instead. _Humans_. I roll my eyes. But sure enough, a timid-looking man peeks out from behind some crates.

“You’re… human. What the hell, you’ll lead em right to us!” The man exclaims.

“Calm down buddy, I just cleared a path! You’re lucky you didn’t get snagged by the Collectors too.”

“That’s what those things are? But… they got Sten, and Lilith! They got everyone!”

“Look, can you just tell me what happened here?” Shepard asks, folding her arms.

“The comm signals went down a few hours ago. I came down to check the main grid. That’s when I heard the screaming. I looked outside, and there were swarms of…of those bug things. They froze everything in their path. I sealed the doors.”

The man begins to pace frantically. “It’s all the Alliance’s fault! They stationed that damn Alenko out here to build defense towers, and made us a target! Stupid thing can’t even shoot straight. This is exactly why we tried to get away from Alliance space!”

How paranoid can they get out here? If the humans aren’t careful with how they handle these outlier colonies, they’re bound to have another Unification War on their hands. If the Reapers or Collectors don’t get to them first.

Shepard’s demeanor changes at that. “Other colonies have been hit, and you match the Collectors’ profile. Don’t blame it on the Alliance. What was Alenko doing here?” She asks, her tone much calmer.

“Supposedly helping us put up those towers, but I have a feeling he was just here to spy on us.”

“The towers we could use. You said they needed work?”

“You’d need to calibrate the targeting systems first. It’s never worked right.”

Sounds simple enough. “One of us should be able to figure it out,” I interject. “We just need the location.”

Shepard smirks at me. “Sounds like a job for you, big guy.”

“You’ll need to go to the main transmitter on the other side of the colony. The targeting controls are at the base. You can’t miss it.”

“Alright gang, looks like that’s our new objective. If we can get those guns working, maybe we can do some damage to that ship. Let’s get outta here.”

 

**Shepard**

Harbinger. The name sticks to me because this asshole will not stay down. Every time I dispatch him, he takes over another drone. And every time he takes over another drone, he spouts another round of taunts. It’s trying to get at me, trying to get at my crew, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand that it’s working.

We’ve been trying to push through this damn courtyard for too long, but they keep swarming in. They’ve got those damn husks, these ugly as sin brain things, and these goddamn drones. I’m tired of this place.

I sneak behind cover to get my bearings. I’m taking too many small hits, and my arm is killing me. I peek out to see where the crew is. Garrus is out of sight as usual, but I hear the crack of his rifle at steady intervals. Jack’s over on the other side and still has some strength to her. But even she’s getting tired. We’ve been at this for too long, and I still don’t have a signal for the other team or the _Normandy_.

I open up the private comm, still close-range enough that distortion’s not a problem. “Hey Garrus. How many more do you see?”

“Do you want a realist answer or a pessimist answer?” His voice is even, but his subharmonics sound strained, clipped out in a way.

“I opened up private for a reason.”

“And it certainly wasn’t for making passes.” I roll my eyes. “You’re looking at about seven more of those drones,” a pause. “Six now. You’ve been nursing that arm for a while, now. Should I head over there?”

“I’ve gotten worse,” I wince. “No need to change position. Just waiting for the medigel to kick in.”

“The formerly dead shouldn’t say the ‘gotten worse’ line. Heading over.”

“Insubordinate ass.”

“You love it.”

 _Dammit, Garrus._ I shut off the private comm and scan the area. Four. Maybe now we can get across this damn courtyard already. I give my arm a few test flexes. Good enough, but Chakwas is gonna have my ass for this one.

Right then, Garrus falls into cover beside me wielding an assault rifle, and gives me a curt nod. I nod back.

“You good?”

“I’ll live. Let’s dance.”

In an instant we spring out, and I rush at the nearest drones, firing off biotics with my good arm. Jack is still on the other side, not quite pinned, but not in the best position. I head towards her, taking out another drone in the process. The one in front of Jack goes down swiftly, a spray of tiny holes expertly placed around the eyes.

“You ok, Jack?” I ask, scanning her vitals.

“Yeah. M’fine. Getting fucking tired of these zombies, Shepard.”

“I hear ya. Let’s get this comm tower back up.”

I punch in some code on the system terminal and start scanning for a working channel. Too many are disabled or flat out blocked, likely due to paranoia on the colonists’ end. Finally, I’m able to get a working secure signal.

“Shepard to _Normandy_ , do you read me?”

“Roger, Commander. Signal’s faint, but I got you.” Joker’s voice never sounded sweeter.

“Sending coordinates to you for a pick-up, see if you can patch em in to Miranda’s team. EDI, do you think you can get these defense towers back online?”

“Errors in the calibration software are easily rectified, but it will take time to bring the towers to full power. I recommend a defensive posture. I will not be able to mask the increased generator output.”

“So we’re sitting targets. Any other good news, EDI?”

“Based on your definition of good, just one. Enemy reinforcements incoming. I suggest you ready your weapons.”

And sure enough, the Reapers just had to have a bumper crop of cannon fodder. Had it not been more of the same, I would have been happy. Instead it’s another avalanche of bullshit Collector forces and husks. And every step of the way, Harbinger.

_“Turian. you are considered...too primitive.”_

_What the Christ?_

I glance back at Garrus but he’s still behind cover. I swear to God if they even _think_ about it…

_“Preserve Shepard’s body if possible.”_

Enraged, I shoot off a volley of biotic spheres at the possessed drone. The energy is burning the hell out of my bad arm and it’s messing up my accuracy. _Dammit_. We just need to push through. _I_ need to push through. I can’t let this bastard beat me.

EDI’s voice pops into my comm. “Targeting power at 100%. Firing at Collector vessel now.”

And just like that, there’s a lull in the waves. Just enough time for me to slap some more medigel on my arm. Christ this is exhausting.

“Get ready. Got to be more soon,” Garrus says behind me.

_It’s just never easy, is it?_

“Shepard…” Jack points upward. “What the fuck is that?”

I follow her gaze.

_Aw, hell._

**Garrus**

We didn’t prepare enough to face the Collectors head-on like this. We did not factor in Harbinger, as it named itself, and we did not factor in this flying, looming abomination. It’s proving difficult to kill, and we can barely get past the constantly regenerating barrier. And with Shepard and her damn arm, we’re flying at half-capacity.

She won’t ease up, and for once I don’t blame her. This … _thing_ needs to be taken down, and fast.  But what we’re doing isn’t working.

I open up a private comm.

“Shepard. This damn thing is on your tail, and it’s only targeting you.”

“And let me guess,” she grunts. “We can’t have that, right?”

“Ideally, no. But let’s use it anyway. Shield yourself up as much as you can, and draw fire while Jack takes down that barrier. Then you and I can gun it down.”

Silence. “You ok with that? Me playing cat and mouse while you two do the heavy lifting?”

“It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s a plan.”

“I’ve been trying to take down the barriers already.”

“Biotics are hurting your arm right now, but you can still shoot. This might work, Commander.”

“Don’t get all formal, Garrus. I trust you.”

From my vantage point I watch as Shepard darts from one cover to the next, focusing on lighter volleys and gun play rather than heavier strikes. On her signal, Jack focuses on taking down those barriers by any means. And I try my damnedest to keep those shields down, and keep them both alive.

“So you get all that from your angle?” Shepard asks. Huh, she kept the private comm open.

“Sorry Shepard, but you asked me earlier, so I–”

“No I like it. Keep it up, soldier.”

Dammit, why do I feel like a fifteen-year-old recruit? I’m blaming the giant flying death trap. For now.

The tactic appears to work. The creature’s movements become more erratic, but still targets Shepard while Jack and I whittle it down. As I line up for another shot, I notice it throb and split apart, revealing several husk heads hidden inside. As it splits, four white-hot beams pierce out, heading right towards the running Spectre.

_Crap._

“Shepard, cover at your two!” I shout into the comm. “That beam is bad news!”

“On it! Jack, keep at it! We’ve almost got him!”

The beam shoots, piercing the ground and everything in its path. Crates, debris and shards fly everywhere, obscuring sight and sound. It stops mere inches away from where Shepard was, and blasts on that spot, cratering the ground around it.

As soon as the destruction stops, I watch her jump out of cover to shoot a blindingly-bright beam of her own. Wherever she got _this_ trick from, it was searing straight into the split Collector, filling the atmosphere with a sharp, sickening stench.

“What the hell are you using!?” I shout.

“One of the drones dropped it! It’s my new best friend!” She cries, voice edging on cheerful. “We weakened it! Give it your all!”

Oh to hell with this. I swap to my assault rifles and run in close. Between the criminal’s biotics, Shepard’s new toy, and my aim, we finally wear the bastard down. With a strange, crunching static, the abomination disintegrates.

We killed the damn thing. A victory. Just in time for us to watch the Collector ship disappear into the sky.

 

**Shepard**

“You were dead,” Kaidan says in wonder.

Hearing his voice for the first time in…too long.  I turn to him, unable to believe that he’s standing here. _He’s alive_. _He made it out alive, out of the_ Normandy _, out of this colony. He’s here._

I reach to embrace him, reminded of just how good he feels. For a second, I ignore the tense muscles on the other end. He pushes away first, and I steady myself and look at him again. This time, he looks confused, and enraged. Before I even know what hits me, we start arguing. And yelling. And fighting. It feels like a solid ten minutes of bickering, and I find myself wondering what kind of reunion did I actually expect. Not this, at any rate.

“I can’t believe the rumors were true,” he sneers. “You’re practically flaunting that you’re with Cerberus now!”

“They’re the only ones taking the threat seriously, Kaidan!” I shout. “If you don’t believe me, go to Anderson yourself! If the Alliance won’t do anything, and the Council’s useless as usual, what else am I supposed to do!?”

“Do things the right way, Ronnie! Come back to the Alliance, turn yourself in for testing! You don’t even have the decency to contact _me_ , at least let the brass know!”

“What the hell do you want, an email from the grave!? You said it yourself, I was fucking dead!” I clench and unclench my fists and sigh. _Kid gloves, V._ “Listen, I’m sorry. This all...” I gesture at the air, “this has been hard on me too. Collectors _are_ attacking human colonies, and we’re trying to get to the bottom of it. They’re working with the Reapers.” I meet his eyes again. “It’s been hard on me too.”

“Not hard for you to turn your back on everything we believed in,” Kaidan snaps. “You _know_ what Cerberus was about back then and you’re still with them!? How do you know they’re not somehow in on this? Or that they’re manipulating you?”

“I. Don’t. But no one else is investigating either, even if Cerberus _is_ behind it! Something has to be done, and if it takes working from the inside, then that’s what I’ll do!”

“So you’re just ok with abandoning the Alliance,” he scoffs. “You’re always about _shortcuts_! You’re not even trying to do things the right way.”

“Kaidan, get a grip! We’re not keen on working with Cerberus either, but what the hell is the Council or the Alliance doing about the colonies?” Garrus interjects.

Christ, even Garrus gets it. Why the hell am I even wasting my breath? Did he dedicate the past two years on being more of a judgmental bastard? All the times I dragged his ass out of the fire, and this is what I get.

“What right way is there? If I let myself get strangled by regulations every fucking time, then Ilos would have never happened.” I say tersely. And the look on his face…shit. I stepped in it. “We wouldn’t have gotten to the Conduit in time, and then where would we be?” I try to amend quickly.

“No. I get it,” he says. _Goddammit._

“Kaidan,” I say lamely. “What if you came with me? I could use you on my crew, watch my back. It’d be just like old times.” Even saying it now, the words ring hollow. The damage is done.

“How can it be like old times when you’re not even the same person? Goodbye, Commander.”

I’m stunned, and for a second, all I can do is watch him leave in disgust. _I saved your damn life this many times, but you won’t even hear me out._ With a sigh, I clinch my eyes shut and try to focus. _So long, Kaidan._

“Joker, get us off this rock. We’re done here.”

 

**Garrus**

“How many made it out?” Shepard asks.

Miranda taps on her datapad, likely coordinating extract for the remaining colonists. The stricken, huddled masses wear different expressions of fear, anger, resentment and sadness. Going by the updated census, Shepard’s going to think the number is too low anyway. Even though we saved more than had we not been here at all.

“I just added eight hundred more to the roster, Commander. That puts us at a bit over half the colony. Transport is scheduled to evacuate them to Alliance-regulated territories until further notice,” Miranda says in a clipped tone. “We were able to get enough footage from the attack today to convince some of the colonies, but the Citadel was not convinced enough to take in the refugees.”

“Figures,” Shepard says with a sigh. “Let’s move out. We did our best. Wasn’t good enough, but that’s how we improve, right?”

Shepard was unduly quiet the entire shuttle ride back. I look over at her, and see a face that’s stoic, stony, almost turian in a way. Just staring straight ahead with those damn dead eyes she gets. I replay the mission in my head. Harbinger, whatever it is, knows Shepard by name, and taking down the Collectors is as life-saving to her as it is the colonists. Whatever is after her is making it personal.

Then there’s Kaidan. I didn’t mind the guy but for such an Alliance do-gooder, he was pretty brazen about her back then. Shepard well, was Shepard. She skirted Alliance regulations, but kept their thing discreet through equal-opportunity shit-giving. Told bawdy jokes, winked and jabbed at everyone, and was generally a hard-headed ass. It really wasn’t until we celebrated after the Citadel battle that she let loose. It was one of the first times she ever did anything outwardly affectionate.

Kaidan was more broken than anyone when Shepard died. _You’d think he would jump at the chance to work with her, even if she does act like a rogue varren half the time. Hell I’m here, and I couldn’t stand the things I saw Cerberus do._ Something about that thought nags me, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I realize a little too late that I’m staring, because the next thing I see are angry eyes with an unnerving glow looking straight at me. Her gaze doesn’t waver, but her face contorts into a half-hearted leer. Being familiar with most human expressions was a by-product of C-SEC, but honed further with serving on the _Normandy_. Usually when she wore that face, negotiations were all but over.

She drawls, “What’s the matter, Vakarian? Collector got your tongue?”

“Just thinking that the unhinged murder squad was probably too full anyway.”

“Yeah. Probably right.” She nods, more to herself, then goes back to staring off. “We’re still going to round out the team. The Illusive Man dumped off another list of dossiers for me to check out.”

“Anyone interesting?”

“If you call a thief, an asari justicar and a trained assassin interesting, then it’s gonna be a goddamned festival.”

“By the goddess,” I say wryly.

“Hopefully not,” she snickers. _Good. Laughter’s good._ “Next stop is back to the Citadel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stealing the _Normandy_ was the catalyst that brought Kaidan and Shepard together, but both grew up in very hard-lined military families. There wasn't a lot of time between the Battle of the Citadel and Shepard's death for them to fully sort out where things were headed.


	11. Why Walk On Eggshells, Anyway?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard copes with Horizon with a few healthy outlets. Garrus opens up a fraction, and is exposed to more human culture.

**Shepard**

I step back on the ship for the evening, arms laden with new personal effects. The Citadel dock workers are almost done unloading the goods I purchased during the stop. New rations, training equipment, booze, medical supplies and weaponry made their way to us. On a whim, I also picked up a few new sims and vids for the rest of the crew.  After Horizon, we need the morale boost.

Cerberus is still terrible in every way imaginable, but I can’t deny their deep pockets. Even Miranda was oddly lax about the supplies I ‘required.’ In her prim and nauseatingly polite tone, she stated, “We’ll itemize it under miscellaneous expenditures. No use in building a wet bar if it isn’t wet.” She sauntered away, typing into her omni-tool, leaving me in a state of shock.

God, if I wind up liking her before this is all over, I’ll eat a bullet.

I also picked up the pointedly not famous Kasumi Goto. A master thief by her telling of it, the tiny woman hacked one of the annoying ad terminals to get my attention. Then after taking three steps on the ship, she cloaked off to God knows where. Seems harmless enough, but she’s a klepto with a Spectre bounty on her head. Between her and who I’ve already got on board, this frigate’s turning into a freak show.

But screw it, now it’s a freak show with fish.

I glance at the now inhabited fish tank. For no other reason than I could, along with the turian’s guidance and my yeoman’s promise to feed them, I bought these useless, expensive ass fish. Another way to make this damn vessel feel like home, and going off the origins of these guys, another thing all species had in common. But if fish is what it takes for me to have a clear head, then so be it.

The office also had a model ship display, similar to the dreadnoughts my folks served on. I remember putting together the little guys with my dad while reciting parts and components to him, just like he taught me. The display is like seeing a little bit of home. It’s about time I start filling it.

I had to buy one ship in particular as soon as I saw it. I dump the loaded bags on my office desk, and take out the box. The model of the _Normandy_ SR1 was as high quality as the real prototype. Every sleek line, every curve, and even the window placements were the same. The cargo hatch door would even be able to open once put together, but of course wouldn’t include any Makos. Or old crew.

_Or Kaidan I guess._

I feel my eyes sting a bit, so I place the ship parts on my desk and put away my other items. Satisfied, I grab a Tupari from the mini-bar and stare at the fish. At least they’re pretty to look at.

I should be used to this by now. Used to shaking off the loss of life. A new pang of guilt hits me, and I relive the sight of the Collector ship flying away. Too many colonists are gone now, and we weren’t prepared. _I_ wasn’t prepared.

 _It didn’t stop you from going on a shopping spree._ True, but after the last mission, after what happened on Horizon, I deserve a break. Speaking of...

_No sense in putting it off anymore._

I sit down at my desk, and check my already read messages.

The reply to Kaidan will be easy. The other one...well that one would probably deserve a call, but I can’t put her at too much risk.

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

_To: Alenko, K.  
From: Shepard, V._

_Fair enough, Kaidan. Be safe out there too._

_\- S_

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

There. No more loose ends, right? He knows damn well that a half-assed apology along with a mention of some _doctor_ isn’t going to fix the things we said. Or the way he looked at me when he said goodbye. It’s not gonna change the fact that we’re yet again picking protocol over each other.

I drain the rest of my drink to steady my hand, but I can already feel the tingle of a biotic flare coming up. I try the ridiculous breathing exercise Chambers mentioned, and surprisingly it works. But what’ll really feel better will be tearing into the new combat mechs in the cargo bay.

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

_To: Shepard, H.  
From: Shepard, V._

_Hi Mom. I don’t know if you’ll get this. I made sure to tell Anderson to keep you in the loop, or at least as much as you can be. There’s a thing I’m doing now, more covert nonsense, as it were. Please know that I love you, and you are in my thoughts._

_I want to say I’m sorry for making you worry. To you and Dad. You’re always saying I make you proud, so I’m gonna keep doing that._

_Love,_

_Veronica_

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

 

**Garrus**

We’d recently stopped at the Citadel and got much-needed rations. The disadvantage of being the only dextro on a human ship was showing its wear, so I was thankful when Shepard postponed Nos Astra to stock up. The likelihood of getting better items on Illium was low, despite their claim of being the best trading outpost in the Terminus.

I grab a frozen dinner from the stores and set about preparing it. It’s just past last shift, and I’d taken to using this time to eat, relax, and avoid the prying eyes of the human crew. I try to ignore that my sleeping schedule was thrown off after eighteen months of constantly looking over my shoulder. For whatever good _that_ did in the end.

In a few hours, I’ll need to check into the medbay, where Dr. Chakwas will once again lovingly torture the crap out of my neck. She’ll do the usual; work through the knots, run physical tests, and admonish me for even being in combat. Finally, she’ll sigh in defeat when I refuse to take a break. Not much could be done for the visible damage yet, but she promised I would at least have full mobility.

I take the reheated xemna steak and head to one of the mess tables. Not more than two bites in, I hear the elevator hum and drop off to the crew level.

“Oh, hey Garrus. Didn’t know you’d be out here.”

“Hey Shepard. I could say the same. Still can’t sleep?”

“Eh, you know.” She heads to the mess and rummages around, then produces a huge bag of snack food. “I was up and I got hungry, so I’m here. New implant keeps me half-starved,” she smiles wanly and taps the back of her head. She plops down in the seat in front of me, and starts munching. If I didn’t know any better, the behavior seems almost defiantly sloppy, especially compared to the commander I knew before. Like she’s daring anyone to question her well-being.

Because of her odd display, I find myself at a loss for words. I’m not sure why I feel it, but things have been tense and awkward with her since Horizon. I figured it had to do with the colonists, or even Kaidan, but the way she was carrying on, it seemed like she would rather tangle with a team of klixen than talk about it. Besides, it probably won’t affect her field performance, so I shouldn’t even pry. At least, not again.

She eyes me warily, still munching away, then heaves a sigh. “Garrus, what’s on your mind?”

“Uh.” _So much for not prying._ “How’s your arm, Shepard?”

“ _That’s_ what’s got your face like that? C’mon, you can do better.” She displays her arm to me, bruised and a few new scars, but no worse for wear. “See? Good as new. Chakwas is pissed as all hell, but I’ll ply her with booze later on.”

“Probably right. How are you? That a better question?”

She considers this for a moment. “Well truth be told, I’m still a bit lit up about the colonists. Pissed. More than usual.” She sighs. “We didn’t save nearly enough people out there. It’s a token effort, y’know? Cerberus comes in to save the day, unlike ‘those pesky Alliance types that sabotage our chances of survival.’ The whole thing feels like a set-up and a publicity stunt.”

“No matter how it got done, you still saved lives,” I press. “Maybe it matters how later, maybe it doesn’t. Besides, if Cerberus is going to offer help for the colonies, use that to your full advantage. You think those people still alive are going to care about the politics behind it?”

“No, of course they won’t. But it doesn’t make it any less a set-up. And besides that, we were delayed from doing any real damage because of those shitty guns. And to top it off, these _things_ , whatever they are, know our movements. You heard the taunts, right? They know my freaking name. How creepy is that?”

“Maybe Sovereign just left a note,” I reply glibly. “Spirits knows half the galaxy knows your name anyway.”

“Laugh it up, Garrus. Doesn’t make it any less weird. Feels like a set-up. Plain and simple.” She eyes me again. “What about you, though? As I recall, we’re still supposed to trade off two years’ worth of horror stories.”

“Didn’t we already talk about that?” I lie. “What more is there to go on about?”

“No. We gave each other a cagey sentence each, rushed off to be heroes, then got too caught up in silly shit to talk. We didn’t go into our mutual death excursions much, and that’s my fault too. So,” she points at me. “You wanna dodge. I don’t. You got questions, and so do I. So ask away, so we can stop walking on eggshells.”

“I’ll never get over how bizarre human idioms are,” I say, chuckling.

“Oh please. That’s nothing compared to the ‘bite the fringe of your mother’ or however the hell that saying goes.”

“You’re… close, but point taken.” _Butchered, more like._ I chew thoughtfully, then brace myself. “My question is still the same. Kaidan saying what he said...it couldn’t have been easy.”

She looks up to the ceiling silently, and for a long moment it seems like she’s going to ignore the topic altogether. “It hurts,” she says finally. “Sucks that someone who’s known me for as long as he did can’t bring himself to trust me.” She pauses for a bit, eyes showing a spark of fondness. “I remember the first day I met him. We’d both got stationed on the _Normandy_ , huge honor. And unusual since biotics don’t usually run together.”

“I get that. Turians are a little more guarded but biotics are rarer for our species.”

“Yeah I remember you telling me about em. Cabals, right?” I nod. “So anyway I’m one part nervous wreck because this was a huge opportunity. XO to _Anderson_ , y’know? Other part is trying to shake off being this so-called war hero.” She frowns, and an unusually dark expression crosses her face before she looks up again. “Then here’s Kaidan dropping off his gear, instantly acting full on fucking new guy who’s never seen tits in a t-shirt.”

I grin at that. “I’ve seen plenty of women in the Alliance, like Williams. Is it really that rare?”

“Not as much. It used to be rare a long time ago, but now there are more of us. We’re not like turians,” she says neutrally. “Human culture had, _has_ a chip on its shoulder when it comes to sexism. I mean you remember Harkin,” she adds.

“I remember him, and you telling me about him later, yeah,” I say flatly. “Are they all like that?”

“Hahaha no, thank God. Hell, that’s not even my point. No, Kaidan wasn’t asshole-sexist. More like, ah geez,” she groans. “It’s hard to explain and I don’t even know if you’d get it.”

“Try me,” I say curiously.

“Ok all of us, the three of us especially, ran ground a lot back in the day. Right down to the Conduit, right?”

“I remember.”

“So call it women’s intuition, soldier’s code, apex instinct, or whatever the hell you want, but I knew the difference between the rest of my squad watching my six for the right reasons,” she looks pointedly at me, “and someone inserting themselves in a fairytale if you catch my drift.”

“He liked you,” I reply. “Everyone knew _that_. And it was mutual, so I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem wasn’t him _liking_ me, it was…I dunno, trying to save me I guess? Like I said, it’s hard to explain.”

“Wouldn’t it make sense to protect someone you care about?”

“Yeah of course! But Alliance hazard pay is good for a reason. We all know what we signed up for. It’s a matter of respect on the battlefield. Protocols, for all the good that shit does,” she says bitterly. “Come to think of it, your last bit of tactics there on Horizon...” She regards me for a bit. “You uh, don’t encounter that much? In turian military?”

“Women and men are expected to serve the hierarchy, no exceptions. All skills are respected. Serving with, or even under a woman isn’t unusual.”

“Is that so?” She says, with a mischievous cock of the eyebrow. “You may have to tell me more about serving under ladies.”

A deep fire hits me in my chest, and in an instant it’s gone. _Where did_ that _come from?_ “You’re sidetracking,” I deadpan. “Get to the point.”

“Right, right. I guess what I’m getting at is this. The more I think about it, the more I feel like Kaidan saw me in a way that I could never be. Maybe...” she trails off. “Maybe that’s why he got so mad. He emailed me.” She munches on, almost in emphasis.

“Huh. Wouldn’t have expected Alliance to let him send it and I’m surprised Lawson let it hit your inbox. Did he apologize?”

“He did. He also had drinks with some doctor.” Shepard stands back up, and crumples the empty bag. “Humans have an old saying: ‘the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.’ I guess that was him doing that. I can’t blame him. It’d been two years and I was dead for most of it.”

_Human idioms: still bizarre._

She sits back down, and gives me a hard look. “What about _you_ , Garrus? Two years ago you were talking about being a Spectre and teaming up with me. What _happened_ out there when I died? And how’d you wind up on Omega?”

I tilt my head back towards the too-white ceiling. There’s no sense in avoiding it now. “I went into Spectre training like I said I would. Then things went downhill on the Citadel. The Council did everything they could to downplay the Sovereign attack. And with the loudest pain in the ass out of the way, they managed to tuck the Reaper threat out of mind without a second thought.”

I lean forward, ignoring her wounded look. “Good people died Shepard, and I wasn’t keen on burying my contempt. Not after what we’d been through. Then one day I got a tip about a drug smuggler and the old investigative instincts kicked in. That brought me to Omega.”

“What happened after that? I assume you took him down vigilante-style, right?”

“Indeed. And that’s when I realized, if I can’t do the good I want to do I can at least clean up that hell-hole. So I took on the criminals out there and hit them where it hurt.”

“That sounds... _damn_ that sounds cool, Garrus. Dangerous and stupid, but cool.”

“You’re probably about the only one that thinks so,” I grin, unable to hide a sense of pride at her words.

“How’d you wind up with a squad? _They_ must have thought you were cool.”

My grin fades. “Not too different from how you created a team. Get out there, get results, and eventually people will line up to follow you. And it worked... until it didn’t,” I finish with a sigh.

“What happened?”

“Betrayal. One of my men ratted us out to the mercs. He lured me out and when I came back to the base, all but two were dead. We held them off but now all that’s left is me and Sidonis. I plan to fix that when I find him.”

Silence follows, and it takes all of my patience, weariness even, to stay in my seat. Bringing up that coward was a mistake, and why the hell does she always have to pry?

“Let me know when I can help.” I look at her again and see a mix of compassion and fury in her eyes. And not pity. And in that moment I feel the weight of the last couple of weeks, hell the last two years lift. We’ll handle this together, just like old times.

“I appreciate it, and I’ll let you know when the time comes.” I say, willing the spirits that my voice didn’t reveal my pain.

“Do that. I should go.” She gets up, and I watch her leave for the elevator. She turns around just before she rounds the corner with a smile I’ve only ever seen on special occasions. “Hey I’m glad we could talk. Hopefully the next time I keep you up all night I’ll have better things to talk about.” She winks at me and enters the elevator.

No, there is no way in hell she meant anything by that. I chanted this all the way back to the battery. It was clearly too late at night to deal with cryptic females, and I needed some damn sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The correct term is "fringe-biter," which basically means a young one, or baby in a derisive manner.


	12. Half a League Onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus visit Liara.

**Shepard**

We’re four hours away from Illium, the asari’s trading post planet in the Terminus. From what I understand, Nos Astra is as beautiful as one would expect from the ancient race. Intel suggested that Liara had set up shop there not long after my death. Should be an interesting visit, to say the least. In the meantime, I have an appointment with a thief, a criminal, and encrypted Cerberus files.

“Y’know Kasumi, between you flickering around all over the place, Miranda’s ‘no more bugs’ policy, and EDI’s constant awareness of the entire ship, I feel like I’m surrounded by voyeurs,” I look around scandalously. “I guess privacy is old-fashioned these days.”

I can’t quite make her out, but the benefits of cybernetic eyes are slightly outweighing her crazy-enhanced cloak. She’s gonna be damn useful at covert shit. Which might be sooner rather than later.

“Shep, there’s a subtle difference between _spying_ on people, and not wanting to be spied _on_. You should know that.” The tiny Japanese woman shimmers into view.

“You do both,” I point out.

“Yeah, but there’s still a difference.”

I snort in response. We pile in the lift to pay a visit to our favorite psychotic biotic. Jack said she found something, but too many of the files were encrypted. Hell if I could crack all of them, and with Tali still off the grid, I turned to Kasumi more and more for the heavy stuff.

And with the hood, the bright eyes, and cheerfully impsh demeanor... well. Good enough. That or maybe techlords in general had kind of a way about them.

We make our way down to the engineering hold. Jack is pacing around like a captive varren. When she sees us her eyes light up dangerously.

“This is fucked, Shepard. Fucked. Yo thief, you think you can crack it?”

“I can crack anything, sister. What do you have?”

“This.” Jack hands over a datapad displaying lines and lines of encrypted text. Kasumi sits on one of the crates, eyes not leaving the screen as she pulls up her omni-tool. Jack’s eyes dart to her then at me, and starts pacing again.

“Cerberus covered their tracks well,” Kasumi finally says. “We’re looking at records from over ten years ago. One of their cells; a facility that held biotic children. Nothing like BAaT or the Ascension program, though. Tons of funding, test subjects coming in at steady intervals. None with any recorded family.”

“That’s where those bastards held me,” Jack glares. “Those motherfuckers tortured me, damn near killed me.” She turns to me. “I wanna plant a huge fucking bomb in that place, turn it into nothing but ash.”

I shrug. “Alright. You know I’m always game for blowing up a Cerberus lab. Are there still people running the place?”

“Doesn’t look like it. All the records and activity go dark after your,” Kasumi eyes Jack warily, “departure. It should be safe, relatively speaking.”

“Well, boring can be good in this case. Jack, you sure this’ll bring you closure? You don’t want to track down the people that did this?”

“As far as I know, everyone back there is dead. I know it’s not high on your list of bullshit missions, Shepard, but it’s important to me, ok? I keep going back to that place. I don’t want to go back to that place. I need this.”

“Alright, alright. Was just hoping to drop a child-killer or two is all. Here’s to hoping, right?” I say, shrugging nonchalantly.

“You’re hoping for trouble?” Kasumi titters. “I worry that’s not a first.”

“Not exactly hoping. But I mean, Jack you’re pretty fucked in the head.” She flips me off in response. “Whoever did this, whoever authorized this, they have to be pretty fucking sick. And when I imagine how a gal like you could’ve turned out, I see red.”

“...Thanks.” Jack says. “Look whatever. Kasumi, did you get the coordinates off of that or not?”

“Of course. Take a look.” She pulls up a hologram of the Dakka star system. Some remote, unassuming garden planet blinks on the screen.

“Unsettled by any of the big players out there, which means it’s a potential merc-haven. Alright. We’ll go after these pick-ups first. Building the crew up is still top priority. After that we drop off the goodbye package, and put the bad shit behind us. Clean and simple.”

Jack nods. “Sounds good.”

Kasumi shoots a look my way before closing her omni-tool. “Alright ladies, it sounds like my work is done. If you’ll excuse me, Jacob should be doing crunches in the shuttle bay and it’s unbecoming to be late for a show.”

I shake my head just as my omni-tool pings. “This. This is exactly what I mean with the voyeur thing. Whatever, I’m out too.”

I trot up the stairs and check my message, only to find another encrypted file. Easier to crack since it follows Alliance protocols. When I open it, I see a list of Cerberus operatives that worked on ‘Subject Zero.’ Many of whom I know are currently under the Alliance Biotics Division.

My heart sinks. Below the list is a sentence as simple as it is foreboding.

_“Looks like the Alliance has gone to the dogs.”_

**~*~**

The arrival to Nos Astra went surprisingly well, and about a thousand credits cheaper than I expected. After talking with the welcome committee, I take in the sight of the beautiful sloping skyscrapers against the blazingly hot sun. It’s breathtaking, and calls to mind a very feminine and frivolous sort of beauty.

Grumpy Garrus appears to disagree. “This place is no better than Omega if you consider their shady practices and lack of common decency. It’s just as lawless here, only they make you sign your life away in a contract rather than bleed you out in the open.”

“Christ Garrus, you say that about every place! Sure, you could haul some bodies into C-SEC if those rules applied. But this,” I outstretch my arms and face him. “There’s still beauty to it, y’know? It may be another Omega, or Noveria, or whatever, but at least it’s warm. No burning bodies, no freezing cold. And there’s all kinds of shopping and antics we can get up to around here. It’s perfect for a quick bit of shore leave. No wonder Liara picked it.”

He rolls his eyes and follows me through the crowded market. “Since when did you start getting so optimistic?” He grumbles.

“Since I got an opportunity to see an old friend from my team, and instead of refusing to see me, they pay my way to land on this rock,” I respond. “Friends are getting to be a rare thing these days, Garrus. Sometimes you gotta take what you can get.”

And oh boy, did I say too much just now. I can feel the sting beating at the back of my eyes, and I find myself slightly annoyed that _that_ particular functionality was deemed important enough for Cerberus to restore. I pinch the bridge of my nose to steady myself, and march on through the markets. Meeting up with Liara is gonna be tough as it is, and there’s no need for me to start the waterworks early.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Hey. You’re right. I can let this count as you taking me somewhere nice for a change.”

At that I laugh, and shrug him off. “And don’t forget it.”

Just then I hear my name through the din. I look around until I see an asari off to the side, beckoning me to her. I look over at Garrus, who just shrugs back. Utterly confused, I head over to her.

“You’re Commander Shepard? I saw your… I guess you would say your aura. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

_A…fan?_

“Um, thanks I guess?”

“Thanks are not required,” the asari intones. “I was asked to give you a message if I saw you. It’s from a friend you made on Noveria.”

Friend? I think back on the experience I had on Noveria. The place was a cold corrupt shithole, littered with self-interested business owners, geth, and asari commandos. It was also the place where I killed Liara’s mother, Saren’s top lieutenant, right in front of her. On that frigid night I learned in the worst way that asari cry like humans do. No, friends were absolutely in short supply on Noveria.

“Listen, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific,” I start. “Who sent you? What’s the message?”

“The message itself should make it clear,” she responds. The asari steps towards me, a little too close, and her demeanor and presence change drastically. She shudders briefly, and her eyes roll back in her head.

_…The hell?_

She speaks, and the voice is distinctly hers and not hers. “Shepard. We hide. We burrow. We build. But we know that you seek those who soured the songs of our mothers. When the time comes, our voice will join with yours, and our crescendo will burn the darkness clean. Thank you Shepard. The rachni will sing again because of you.”

And just as quickly, the asari is back to normal.

This is... pretty good news. The rachni were rebuilding from the sound of it, and willing to believe the Reaper threat. More than that, they were willing to help in the fight against them. That’s absolutely more than what the Council or the Alliance was offering right now.

“How did you come across the rachni queen? She promised to remain in hiding,” Garrus asks.

 _Ever the cop_.

“I encountered her on an uncharted world. She saved my life. More than that she gave me purpose. They are an amazing people. The galaxy owes Shepard a great debt for giving them a second chance.”

“Alright,” I say. “It’s good to hear that. What’s your purpose now these days?”

“The queen shared her song with me as I recovered.” She looks downward, as though recalling a fond memory and smiles. “I saw the rachni as only an asari could. They are so beautiful. And so vulnerable.”

I exchange a glance with Garrus, who immediately looks the other way, mandible flared. Dammit he caught that too. “Ok. And the purpose?” I prod.

“Ah, yes. They needed someone to purchase things they cannot make themselves. Someone to work within the system. An agent if you will. And I am happy to help. My life as a courier was empty and shallow. Now I’m helping a great race rebuild itself.” She smiles brightly.

“Well uh…” I clear my throat. “Well I’m glad that my friend on Noveria is doing well. If you ever encounter her again, send her my regards.”

“Be well, Commander Shepard. And again, thank you.”

As she turns to walk away I hear a distinct chuff beside me. “No, don’t even start,” I say. “I don’t want to think about it and we’re running behind anyway.” I stalk through the marketplace.

“Shepard,” Garrus laughs, rushing to catch up. “You can’t tell me…” He chuckles. “As only an asari could? C’mon, Shepard.”

“Nope.”

“You know that rachni have that hive-mind thing going. You don’t think that… Shepard, it’s a little funny.”

“Dammit, Garrus! I didn’t wanna think about it and you’re right here making me think about it.” We stop at the administration building stairs. So this is where Liara works. Very snazzy. I look back over at Garrus, who’s stifling another chuckle. “Since when did your mind go straight to the gutter anyway?”

“Maybe you rubbed off on me. But still, it’s good to know that the rachni are embracing eternity.”

“Oh of all the…” And finally I laugh. “Ok fine. I’m happy, ecstatic even, that I saved an entire race of people just for them to get some asari strange. Save a life and they get laid. Story of my life there.”

“It’s not the worst policy,” he responds, his tone a little more serious.

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, let’s go see our friend.”

**Garrus**

We walk into the office just in time to hear Liara arguing with a human male via hologram. She doesn’t notice us and continues her tirade.

“Have you faced an asari commando unit before? Few humans have. I’ll make it simple. Either you pay me, or I’ll flay you alive. With my mind.” She cuts off the feed abruptly.

Wow. Don’t know when little Liara started borrowing death threats from Benezia, but this is not like her at all. I guess the past couple of years have changed all of us.

She turns and finally sees us. “Shepard!” She exclaims. “Nyxeris, hold my calls.” She looks at Shepard for a second, then grabs her into a long hug. Asari were always a bit touchy-feely, but this gesture seems oddly human. “My sources said you were alive, but… it’s so very good to see you, Shepard.”

“It’s good to see you too, Liara. Truly. But uh…you. Wow. Flaying people with your mind? That’s a new one.”

Liara looks a little bashful. “Oh that. Just another unhappy customer. He’ll come around. They always do.”

She flashes a menacing smile at that, and in that second she looks a little too much like Shepard before getting ready for battle. It’s jarring, not just because this was _Liara_ , but because I wouldn’t have expected that many people to adopt Shepard’s cutthroat attitude.

“Ever since you saved the Council,” she continues, “people have wanted to get on my good side. With a bit of coercion, and a lot of luck I’ve set up here as an information broker. It’s paid the bills since you… well, for the past two years. And now you’re back, gunning for the Collectors with Cerberus.”

She heads toward her desk and motions for us to sit. Paid the bills, alright. I look around the office, and it’s every bit as decorated as some of the better parts of the Presidium. Liara herself is looking well, too. She’s clad in a respectable, well-tailored gown, and while still young for an asari, her voice and demeanor feels a little less Maiden.

“That’s not public knowledge,” Shepard retorts, and it looks as though she’s prepared for another fight.

“Neither is you being alive,” Liara smiles craftily. “Information is my domain now. If you need intel, I’m happy to help.”

“What about you, Liara? Come with me,” Shepard says. “If you know that much, you know what I’m up against. I could use all the help I can get.”

“I can’t, Shepard. I’m sorry.” She frowns, and paces behind her desk. “I have commitments here. Things I need to take care of.”

“Oh Christ, what kind of commitments? Hopefully good enough to bail out on a friend,” Shepard snaps.

“By the goddess Shepard, you can’t just waltz in after two years and expect people to drop everything they’re doing! I have debts I need to repay. I’m not going to rest until I see this done.” She sighs. “Shepard I apologize, and I know the timing isn’t ideal, but I could use your help.”

“Really? You’re right, the timing is poor to say the least. Why should I help you with anything?” Shepard asks, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes.

 _Well this is marginally better than Horizon_.

“Shepard, you don’t mean that,” I say. “Hear her out.”

She glares at me. “Why should I, Garrus?” I glare back, not letting up. She lets out a breath, and tilts her head toward the ceiling. “Whatever. I still need to know why, Liara.”

“Because it’s that important to me. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

“But you mentioned debts,” Shepard presses. “What’s the full story? You’re not telling me something, and I’m getting damn tired of being in the dark.”

And at that moment, Liara looks every bit as young, scared, and vulnerable as the first day she came aboard the _Normandy_. She fidgets for a bit, then turns and stares out the window. “You’ll kill me,” she says softly.

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I won’t. Liara, level with me, will ya? What happened?”

Liara takes a deep breath and sits at her desk, looking tired and haggard in a matter of seconds. “We… all of us took your death very hard. I wanted so very much to believe you were alive, that you could be saved. But by the time I learned the truth... Shepard, I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait on the explanation. I can’t trust anyone given the circumstances right now. I trust you two, but this is…big.”

Liara looks at both of us, pleading with her eyes that we believe her. And it’s a tough situation. But she wouldn’t upset Shepard like this without a damn good reason. She’s still Liara. Still the same girl who tried to cheer _us_ up even when her mother died.

Shepard looks at me, eyes still full of hurt and rage. I shake my head at her. _Don’t. You can still trust her._ She sighs again, and seems to agree with me. “Ours not to make reply,” she starts.

“Ours not to reason why,” I respond.

“Ours but to do and die,” Liara finishes bitterly. “To Ashley.”

“Fine, Liara. I’ll help you. But this is bullshit. The only reason I’m even thinking about it is because I’m in the same goddamn situation right now.” She pinches her nose. “But just…fuck! At least you’re not calling me a traitor or anything. Hell, for whatever reason that _you’re_ not telling me, I should be pissed at _you_ , more than I am right now.”

“In the meantime, can you give us some intel on some people we’re looking for?” I ask. “We originally came here for a couple of pick-ups.”

“Of course! It’s the very least I can do. Who are you looking for?”

“First person we’re looking for is a Thane Krios,” I say, pulling up his dossier. “He’s supposed to be here.”

“The assassin. Yes, he arrived here a few days ago. My sources tell me he may be targeting a corporate executive, Nassana Dantius.”

“The name rings a bell,” Shepard says.

“She lied to have you take out her sister, Shepard. You were…unhappy about her deception. Regarding Thane, he contacted a woman named Seryna. She has an office in the cargo transfer levels. She may be able to help make contact with him.”

She’s good. In another life, I could see someone like her doing well in C-SEC. And if that was just intel she knew at a glance, then just maybe…

“So you just knew that?” Shepard asks. “You didn’t even pull up a file.”

“I’m very good at my job, Shepard. The world of intrigue isn’t that different from a dig site. Except that the dead bodies still smell,” she says with a wry smile.

“Alright, I’ll bite. We’re looking for another person here. An asari named Samara.”

“The…justicar. Shepard, are you sure about that?

“Yeah. Why, are justicars a bad thing? When I saw the dossier it just seemed like she was a well-seasoned commando.”

“There’s more to it than that. In asari culture, justicars follow a very strict moral code. A very binary moral code. One wrong move, any hint of injustice, and she will be compelled by that code to kill.”

“So…you’re saying she might kill me,” Shepard says narrowing her eyes.

“Your past deeds are…the human phrase would be ‘checkered,’ as I understand it.”

“We’ll be cautious,” I say in the most reassuring tone I can muster. “We’re working with a strange enough set that Shepard would be the least of her worries.”

“Garrus, that doesn’t make that any better,” Liara responds. “If they’re under her comman–”

“Can you tell me where I can find her or not?” Shepard says, and the tone she’s using offers no room for debate.

“Check with Officer Dara at the transportation hub. She’ll have more information on why Samara is here.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later, Liara.” Shepard walks out the office without a second look back.

I turn back to Liara, who’s obviously distraught. “It’s that bad, huh?” I ask.

“She’d kill me if she knew, Garrus. Honestly, you might too.”

“Never,” I say. “She’ll come around, Liara. I’ll make damn sure of it.”

“You’ve gotten closer these past few months.” She’s saying it, as though it’s a declaration of fact rather than speculation.

“We’ve all been friends a long time, Liara.”

“Which makes it all the less surprising,” she states, a crafty smile forming on her lips. “Like I said, I’m a very good information broker. Intrigue isn’t just about gathering information from hacked terminals and dead bodies. People themselves give information, whether through force, coercion, or whether they know it or not.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about T’soni, and I’m not quite sure if it matters anyway.”

“So you’re saying it’s one-sided, and you don’t feel the same for her?”

At her words I feel my chest falling drastically, rapidly. The way she worded that. Just what the hell is she getting at? But that’s not why I’m here. “I’m saying she’ll come around with you. I’ll make sure of it. But I have one more person that I’m hoping you can help me find.”

“Another potential teammate?”

“Something like that. I need you to find a turian. Used to go by Lantar Sidonis.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard really liked Ashley once she found out they trained under the same officers, and wound up 'homaging' some of her interests to honor her.


	13. Not Exactly Like Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus reminisce about their first mission together, then recruit a new person.

**Garrus**

When I leave Liara’s office, I get a ping on my omni-tool.

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

_At Eternity with the guys. Letting off some steam before we get Thane._

_VS_

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

I make my way towards the bar, feeling a little annoyed that she left to go drink her problems away with people she herself said she couldn’t trust. And more annoyed at Liara’s assertion. If Liara was even remotely correct, then Shepard would’ve just taken _action_ like she normally does.

She’s like a turian in that respect. Turians don’t really beat around the bush when it comes to things like attraction or well, _anything_. We’re rather pragmatic about the whole notion, and it leads to a lot less hurt feelings that way. Humans, however are much stranger.

Their culture seems more closed off and downright cagey about personal affairs. On the _Normandy_ they even went so far as to have “fraternization” rules, a policy that always felt counter-productive when running high-risk missions. Not that anyone followed it anyway; even with that hurdle, she and Kaidan were still a thing. She’d go along with rules to a point, but wasn’t tied to it. And the way those two behaved was far different than what’s going on now. We’re _comrades_ , not kicking spurs.

And even if I entertained the thought for a fraction, it’d be doomed anyway. A decorated Alliance hero and Spectre with a failed C-SEC officer turned vigilante? And that’s not counting the species gap, cultural differences, and the damn idea is based entirely on an asari who had her _own_ hopes up for the Commander.

I step into Eternity just in time to hear a gunshot, followed by a scream and…laughter? I rush to the scene and see Shepard holstering her pistol, standing over a crying man with light-colored hair. He’s wearing an obvious replica of the N7 armor Shepard wore out in the field. Yet even in her civvies, it’s obvious who’s the ranked officer.

“That shot barely grazed you, you big baby. Grow a quad,” the asari bartender sneers. “Sorry. My father was a krogan.”

“Shepard, was that really necessary?” Jacob asks, wide-eyed. “He’s a little overzealous, but he’s harmless.”

“Not harmless,” she retorts. “He’s going around God knows where wearing that, he’s gonna get shot at. This shit isn’t cute, Verner. What are you even doing out here?”

“Being a twat is what,” Zaeed barks out. “Said this place sells red sand. News flash: they don’t.”

“And its legal anyway,” the bartender finishes. “As long as you have a permit.”

Shepard spots me and gives me an easy smile. “I suppose there’s no harm in investigating the claim. Right, Garrus?”

“Investigat–” She gives me a hard look. Then I catch on. “No! No harm at all. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

The man looks mollified at that. “Just let me know if you need any help, Shepard.” He limps away to the other side of the club.

Shepard rolls her eyes. “Sorry about that, guys. I don’t make a habit of pulling a gun in a bar like that.”

“That’s the biggest lie you’ve told yet, Shepard. The day we met, we were taking on mercs in Chora’s Den.”

“Damn, Shepard. He called you out just like that,” Jacob laughs. “What’s the story behind the shoot-out? All the reports on it were hush-hush.”

“That was so ancient! And ok, maybe I already had to gun people down at that sleaze-hole. So I get marching orders to prove my claim against Saren, right? My leads are a volus knocking for the Shadow Broker, and this pain in the ass. This guy,” she nudges my shoulder, “started the whole damn thing. I go looking for him, and he’s already creeping on some mercs that got his girl hostage. Helluva shot, this guy. If it wasn’t for him and his lead on Tali, we’d be dead in the water.”

“That’s not at all how I remember it. As I recall, you were very apprehensive about letting a ‘hotshot turian’ on your ship. It took a little needling on my end.”

“Oh, whatever. Couldn’t stroke your ego _too_ much,” she winks at me. “But so I give him the squad rules, and we take on this asshole Fist. Bunch of his idiots were gunning at us, but we brought the house down. Then Wrex, that krogan I was telling you about, takes his shotgun and shoots Fist square in the chest saying ‘I don’t leave jobs unfinished.’” She imitates Wrex’s gruff voice for effect. “Meanwhile C-SEC here threatened to arrest me for making a drink behind the bar. ‘No one’s gonna miss it,’ I say. And he cocks his gun and goes, ‘I don’t miss, either.’”

The group laughs at that. I’m more than impressed that she remembered that day so well, though her version of it paints me in a better light than how I felt then. She _would_ leave out the frustration I voiced about getting kicked off a crap investigation. She’s making me out to be some kind of hero, the catalyst that swooped in to save the day.

“And that started the whole thing?” Jacob asks. “In the vid they made, they skip all the details on what happened. They never get into the meat. Just made you larger than life.”

“Yeah. I hate it,” she says flatly. “You do that, you get a galaxy full of those clowns,” she flicks a thumb in Verner’s direction. “I’m just a soldier. It’s what I signed up to do.”

“You said that line before, Shepard,” Zaeed groused. “Think you’re saying that just to dodge.”

“I’m saying it cause it’s true. And that’s my drink limit.” She downs her glass and checks her omni-tool. “Any of you gents want to get this assassin guy with me? Intel said we’d have a welcome wagon of a hundred or so Eclipse.”

We groan collectively.

“I’m on it, Shepard.” I say. “But you’re buying more rounds afterwards.”

“Deal.”

 

**Shepard**

I’m so damn fed up with this paranoid woman. Well, I suppose not paranoid. An assassin _is_ after her, and my team _is_ ripping through her forces. But still, doesn’t make me any less fed up.

I ended up bringing Zaeed and Garrus. I feel a little bad for how often I’ve been bringing the faithful turian to ground, but he volunteered this time. And the last. Besides, I had a hunch that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. Bit of a comfort, if I’m honest, having someone I can trust. And as long as he doesn’t mind, then no harm. Zaeed surprising volunteered as well, not before convincing the bartender to take a shot with him ‘for luck.’ She did. The kiss on the cheek was auxiliary.

We clear out a half-built room, and I order a quick break to clean wounds and take stock. I open up a couple of protein bars and stretch out on the floor, gun in hand. I scope out the room as Zaeed leans against the wall near the exit, taking a leisurely point, while Garrus sits on some crates near me, leaning on his rifle. All of us comfy as hell compared to a few minutes ago.

“Why didn’t you eat at the bar?” Garrus remarks.

“I did,” I say. “But we’ve been at this for at least an hour. Besides, I’m almost done.”

“You alright?”

“Never better.” I crumple up the wrapper, and tuck into the second one. “But I’ll be glad to be done with this business. Killing mercs is hard work, remember?” I wink.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, speaking of that. I got Liara looking for… him.”

The way he says ‘him,’ I know exactly who he’s talking about. “Good. Then the visit wasn’t a waste of time.”

“She wants to tell you what happened, Shepard. Her hands are tied.”

I wave him off. “Spare me. I get it. But just because I get something, doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

“She’s also got some interesting…theories,” he says, and he gives me a steady neutral look.

“Care to share?”

“Seems like a long shot, if I’m honest.”

I scoff. “Aren’t you a sniper? I thought long shots were like your bread and butter.”

“Probably true,” and his stare doesn’t let up.

I break away from his gaze. He’s been doing that more lately and I can’t help but feel scrutinized, like a cross between prey and… something else entirely. I dust the crumbs off of me, and crumple up the second wrapper. Garrus stands and extends his hand out to help me off the floor. I grab it and he hoists me up, his thumb lingering in the palm of my hand for much longer than necessary. He’s still giving me that same carefully neutral look.

“Ready?” He asks, but his subharmonics aren’t in sync with what he’s saying. I’ve no idea what that means, and all the augmented hearing in the world wouldn’t help me out.

“Yeah, let’s go.” A distant voice answers. Oh wait, my voice.

**~*~**

The view from the bridge is a gorgeous sight. A cool breeze whips across the incomplete structure, and the open air greets us with twinkling lights. They’re everywhere, and it’s like magic. Lights illuminate from the high-rises and skycars, some from the distant star systems, and some from shotgun reports and biotics by Eclipse commandos.

Simply beautiful.

I duck behind a crate and signal the men to cover me with suppressing fire. As I rush forward, a gust of wind almost knocks me over. To hell with this.

“Guys, hang back and use concussive rounds. They’ll fall right off that way. And for the love of God be careful.”

“Roger that,” Zaeed says.

I pelt the incoming wave with small orbs and send a few mercs off the bridge. Garrus and Zaeed get similar results. _Good_. I let myself crack a smile.

I weave across as another barrage comes in. Their tactics are decent; try to draw us out of cover, rally us to the edge. Same as what we’re doing to them. I peek around some leftover materials, and a light towards the top of the building catches my eye.

_Shit._

A rocket explodes by me. Just missed, but now I’m half-blind from the flash and can’t see how many assholes I’m dealing with.

But eyes aren’t everything. I slow my breathing and listen for footfall and scuffles, then lob a grenade and count. Two. Three.

Screams on four, and five more bodies fly off the bridge. Sight’s back, so I climb over debris and run past the rocket launchers’ line of fire. My omni-tool isn’t enough to take them down, but my snipers have a better angle.

“Take those out!” I order, overloading a mech in front of me.

I reach the other side past the open air. Perfect time for an asari commando to greet me with a biotic blast to the chest. My lungs are on fire; I’m getting pulled, contorted, too hot and too cold all at once. Gasping, I lunge for her and unleash a field of my own. She staggers back. I empty my clip as she regains control.

Here goes.

I overclock my shields and detonate. The pulse knocks her back, stunning us both. I pelt more dark energy at her and retreat behind cover. Just need a damn thermo-clip to finish her off. She’s staggering towards me, already on the mend. I look around frantically. No clips, shields still recovering. Dammit.

I hear a tinny, high pitched buzz, and her footsteps halt. I peer over in time to see a perfectly tiny hole on the asari’s forehead. She drops with an unceremonious slump.

I roll my eyes. _Hotshots._

Garrus swaggers up and looks down at me. Flaring a mandible, he drops three clips in my lap. I curl my lip in disgust at him as I reload, tossing the steaming spent clip over the bridge.

“You’re slipping,” he says.

“ _You’re_ stealing,” I respond. “I count thirty-six. That chick over there would’ve been thirty-seven.”

“Maybe I’ll share the credit. Just this once. I got thirty-nine.”

“Bullshit,” I smirk.

“Visor never lies.”

“It’s hacked in your favor. C’mon, let’s go make a new friend.”

 

**Garrus**

“Shepard? But… you’re dead.” Nassana’s face full of apprehension.

“You know me better than that,” Shepard responds coolly.

We’re in the top level of the tower, huge window overlooking all of Nos Astra. Flanking the asari business woman are three more Eclipse guards, each with a gun trained on our skulls.

Pretty good odds for us, all things considered.

“I take it you never got over that deception,” the asari says wryly.

“Maybe killing all your mercs is my way of flirting,” Shepard retorts, voice sarcastic and casually seductive. _Focus, Vakarian. Remember those guns pointed at you?_

“Not funny, you bitch.” She signals her guards to be ready.

“So much for that.” Shepard folds her arms idly, pistol in hand and glares at the guards. It’s enough for them to falter ever so slightly. I glance at Zaeed and confirm that he’s ready to open fire at a moment’s notice.

“I’m sure you find this all amusing, but it ends here. Now what?”

“You’re not my target, Nassana, much as you deserve it. I’m looking for someone.”

“Not your target? What do you call this!?” She shouts. “You destroyed my towers! What do you want? Credits? Power?”

A downright evil glint crosses Shepard’s eyes. “Make me an offer,” she smirks.

“Shepard,” I say in a low warning.

“If she’s offering,” she replies, smile not leaving her face. I roll my eyes. Shepard has no intentions on keeping her end of any bargain Nassana proposes. Two years ago, she took Anoleis’ bribe out of spite, then turned and ratted him out anyway. She gave half to the investigator, saying anyone dealing with that man deserved an ‘asshole fee.’

Shepard is already coming in pissed at this woman, so no telling what she has in store.

“Double whatever you’re getting. And I’ll pay double again if you tell me who hired you.”

Shepard’s eyes move slowly up to the ceiling. I hear it too, and it seems like we’re the first to hear the commotion. She pretends to consider the offer, but laces in a signal to us.

A shadowy figure descends from the ceiling and immediately snaps a merc’s neck. He drops the body quietly, and it’s not until he punches the other guard that the last is able to react. She’s too slow; by the time she turns he’s already gotten a shot off, killing her instantly. With a dancer’s grace he turns, pistol square in Nassana’s stomach.

He fires.

Purple blood splatters behind her, and before she drops he cradles her as tenderly as a lover might, gently resting her on her desk. He folds her arms across her chest in typical asari burial fashion, and begins to recite what sounds like…a prayer. For a second I’m right back in the Kima district, Melenis’ lifeless eyes staring up at me.

He knew how to make an entrance, but this? Romanticizing your kills is a little creepy, not poetic.

_It’s a mockery._

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Shepard says, interrupting the awkward stillness in the room.

The drell says nothing, but continues to pray. I take in his features, old investigative habits kicking in. He’s a biped, structure like a human or asari, though his features are lizard-like. Different from krogans in this respect; while krogan are all hard plates, bulky structures, and redundant organs, this person is slim, lean, pliable. Not unlike an emaciated human male. His eyes are black on black, a quality only seen in asari when they mind-melded. It’s a wonder I haven’t seen more drells on the Citadel.

“So we gonna talk?” Shepard’s getting impatient. For his sake, I hope he wraps up this display soon.

He responds, “I apologize, but prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken.”

“Nassana had it coming.”

“Not for her. For me.” His eyes finally meet ours, and he takes in our presence with the quick, meticulous precision of a trained killer.

“The measure of an individual can be difficult to discern by actions alone,” he continues. “Take you, for instance. All this destruction... chaos.”

He moves smoothly from the desk to in front of us, eyes never leaving Shepard. My hand involuntarily grips my rifle a little tighter, despite his seeming lack of malice. I glance at Shepard, who looks down, considering his words.

“You expended much effort to find me. So,” he finishes. “Here I am.”

“How’d you know I was coming at all?” She asks incredulously.

“I didn’t,” he replies. “Not until you marched in the front door and started shooting. You proved to be a valuable distraction.”

“You sure that was wise? It could have been anyone gunning them down.” She narrows her eyes at him, feeling him out.

“In the end it was you. What would you like to discuss?”

She signals us to lower our weapons. She sizes the assassin up, then lets out a long sigh. “We’re taking on the Collectors. They’re abducting human colonies, and I need the best on my team if we’re even going to have a chance. We’re going through the Omega 4 relay to handle this. I’m making no promises on a round trip.”

“This was to be my last job,” he says after a pause. “I’m dying. Low survival odds don’t concern me.”

“Sounds like a perfect fit,” she replies.

“The universe is a dark place,” he continues. “Many innocents died today. I wasn’t fast enough, and they suffered. I must atone for that.”

He’s genuine, at least. I’m still uneasy about working with someone who monetizes and glorifies death. But making the universe a brighter place? A long time ago that’s what I was after on Omega. I frown as Shepard seems to agree, as her eyes warm when she looks at the drell.

“I will work for you Shepard. No charge.” They seal the alliance with a handshake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard misses the old times more than anyone right now.


	14. Altered Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus oversees upgrades on the _Normandy_ , and Shepard chats with the crew.

**Shepard**

I make my way back to the ship with Thane, Jacob and Samara in tow. After debriefing Samara retreats to the observation deck, likely not wanting to be around three irritable, hungover biotics. The deadlier effects of the Minagen fumes wore off, but this headache is the size of Montenegro. The three of us head to the mess, more than ready to eat our strength back.

“Thane, you should really consider seeing Chakwas.” I point towards the medbay. “I’ve no idea what that crap does to drell, but if it’s anything like what I’m feeling right now, then please. For me.”

“Your concern is most appreciated, but it is unnecessary. The effects are no different than my current affliction.”

“Jacob?”

“For the fifth time, I’m fine,” Jacob laughs, then winces. “It’s no more of a headache than implant updates.”

“So I’m the only one whose head feels like a cracked melon.”

“Didn’t say that,” Jacob responds with a wry smile.

Gardner’s boasting about some kind of new stew to the mid-shifters, and for once it doesn’t look like shit. I grab a bowl and plop down at one of the tables, flanked by the two men. The dirty looks Jacob kept throwing at Thane ceased after I gave him an earful on the battlefield. As I eat now, I can’t help but notice that they seem at ease with each other now.

They’re both skilled killers, and once they channeled whatever machismo distrust into something useful, the mission went fine. But damn, yet another biotic. Asari like Samara are naturally adept to dark energy, but I honestly have no idea about drell. But counting me, this ship has six biotic users. More than I’ve ever worked with in my entire Alliance career. That’s gotta mean something.

“Jacob, what’s it take to keep your barrier up like that? I haven’t been able to get one up since I…woke.”

“Concentration, mostly,” he says between bites. “I mean, I guess I haven’t really thought about it a whole lot, but after awhile it’s just like any other muscle memory, like keeping your abs engaged, or maintaining posture.”

“You make it sound easy,” I say dejectedly. If it’s as easy as muscle memory, that’s one thing, but when you don’t even remember what it’s supposed to feel like anymore?

“Maybe it’s not your thing. You and Thane kinda have the same style. Hit first, worry later. Obviously nothing wrong with that. What are you so anxious about barriers for?”

“They drill that skill in you in the Alliance. You know that. I never worried about it past passing the standard tests. But on the field, just seems like I can’t anymore. It doesn’t feel right.”

“We’re not Alliance, Shepard. Don’t worry about kowtowing to their standards,” Jacob replies.

“Your focus on the field is divided, and rightfully so,” Thane interjects. “You are intent in reading the battleground, directing orders, and keeping everyone alive. Do not take personal style for failure.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He’s probably right about style, but it’d be a waste if I didn’t take all these new people as an opportunity to get better. At something, at least.

I finish up and bid my farewells to the men, and head towards the observation deck. Time to talk with Samara, and see what makes her tick.

Like most asari, she’s beautiful by female human standards and a powerful biotic. Liara had been right in one respect; her code is as binary as they come. But so strange and unlike anything I would have guessed. If I hadn’t shown up when I did, she would’ve been forced to kill a cop in cold blood for ‘obstructing her mission.’

Instead, she swore an oath to _me_ of all people to protect the cop and help with our mission. Strange doesn’t begin to describe this code.

When I reach the deck, I see her encapsulated by the dark abyss, calmly meditating while focusing a sphere of dark energy. She stops when she hears my footsteps.

“Shepard.”

“How are you? Did you get settled in ok?”

“I did. After spending much of the last four hundred years on my own, being on a ship with a crew is a fascinating change of pace. It will be nice to have a colleague to chat with,” she replies. “I may be rusty at it, however.”

I smile faintly. “That’s reasonable. To be honest, I can barely remember _not_ being on a ship. But since you mentioned it, chatting sounds nice.” I pause, trying to find the words. “Samara, how much do you really know about our mission, about the Collectors? Or, us, really? The type of oath you took to be a part of this crew…it’s an honor, but it was obvious that it’s not taken lightly.”

“You wish to destroy the Collectors because they are capturing colonists. That is enough for me. The Justicar’s Code compels you to harsh action. We…learn to quell curiosity, least it weakens our resolve. If I must kill a murderer, I need not know of his good deeds prior.”

I take a seat beside her, halfway between the window and her. “What exactly is a justicar, then? What you’re saying doesn’t exactly sound like justice.”

“Do not confuse vids with reality,” she says with a distant smile. “Justicars do not uphold a high-minded philosophical ideal of justice. There is no glory in what we do. There is only the Code. Because of that, some asari are uncomfortable with us. Some would deem me a hero for my actions, but if forced I would kill them all if I had to.”

I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit this was similar to the actions I’ve taken in the past. But how does she compel herself to follow this ‘code’ no matter what? How the hell is she so calm?

“So then this Code…it’s not as simple as ‘save good people, shoot bad people.’”

She chuckles softly. “I’m afraid not, though rarely anything is that simple. The Code is five thousand sutras and covers every situation one can encounter.” Her tone and demeanor changes slightly. “Many encounters end in death.”

“Don’t they all,” I say wryly. “So then… no one questions this? You don’t get labeled as a killer or monster?”

She looks at me, studying me for a bit before she replies, “Humanity is still very new, isn’t it? The word of a justicar, as well as their judgement, is trusted. We are a very old and respected order. I’m surprised you don’t notice some resemblance to Spectres, though admittedly the code is grimmer.”

“Why choose this?”

She pauses, and her calm veneer cracks just a tiny bit. “As you know, I am after someone. If it is ok with you, I’d rather not discuss my reasons at this time. I will say it is not a choice taken lightly, and in my case was the last resort to atone.” She begins to form a biotic ball again, regaining her meditative stance.

“I should go,” I say after a pause. “But I’m glad we got to chat.”

“I am glad we spoke as well.”

**~*~**

When I reach the mess again, most of the crew have cleared out. I grab two cups of coffee and head towards the bridge. It’s been a little too long since I’ve visited with my favorite pilot.

When I reach the bridge, I hear him mumbling something to EDI.

“You look out there and sometimes it’s just like... you know? There’s all this...it’s like...you know?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moreau, but I do not know. Would you care to explain?”

“Ah, forget it.”

“Hey you two,” I interrupt. “I assume everything’s going well up here?”

“No, no, shh. Shh. Sh!” Joker swipes his hands at me frantically. “She’s listening.”

“I am always listening, Mr. Moreau.”

He throws his arms up in frustration. “Whatever. Anyway Commander, what’s up? Oh, thanks,” he grabs the mug from my hand. “So, even the asari might snap and kill us all. Did I miss the policy change? Must be this crazy to ride?”

“C’mon, Joker, you have to be a little crazy to sign on with Cerberus. Wink wink, nudge nudge.” I slump into the empty co-pilot chair. “Besides, if we’re going to hire a killing squad, may as well be the best, right?”

“Tch, yeah I guess. How much longer are we staying on Illium?”

“Long enough to get the armor and cannon retrofits set. Between that and waiting on requisitions to be docked, I’m allowing a couple more days. Why, are you getting antsy? We’re still technically on shore leave.”

“You know how I feel about leaving the ship when upgrades are getting installed. Someone else might bungle it up, and then where will we be?” He flicks his hand across the flight display, and the holo-screen powers down. “Hey, so. Sorry about Horizon.”

Oh right. He was probably channeled in to hear the whole thing. Probably not unlike when he heard Kaidan and I just before we commandeered the old _Normandy_.

“What’s to be sorry about? We were able to save more colonists than on Freedom’s Progress. More than I can say about Ferris Fields. All told, it’s a goddamn success, right?” My tone edges on bitterness.

“Yeah ok, _Commander_. You think I can’t tell when you’re deflecting? I’m not the better pilot for nothing.”

I blink owlishly. “That was a terrible joke.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, EDI and I are full of em. But seriously, you know what I mean. I know you guys were close.”

“Christ, you want me to get all sentimental? Chambers already tried that shit,” I shoot back. “We had a thing and now we don’t, it’s no big deal.”

“Ahh, don’t give me that.” He leans back in his chair, and takes a long drink of the coffee in his hand. “Back then, he’d do anything for you, y’know. He was front line with you against a Reaper, and I’m the one who gets roped back into saving the galaxy? Did someone switch our files?”

“You’re the force that pulls it all together, Joker.” I sigh. “He’s not here now. What’s that say?”

Silence fills the air around us. I know that Joker means well, and ultimately wants what’s best for me. And deep down what’s best for me is to get over it. Not be bitter, not be sad, but just. Let go. I take a sip of my coffee, and peek over at Joker. He’s never been great with emotions and frankly, neither have I. But he tries and I gotta appreciate him for that.

“It says you like me more after all,” he smirks.

“Dream on, Moreau. Or am I to understand that you’re hitting on your newly-single CO?” I say wryly.

“Uh, no offense Shepard, but I’ve already broken every bone in my body just being near you. You need someone willing to sign Noverian waivers.” He hands me his empty mug. “Pretty please?”

I take it. “Ass. And Joker? Thanks. For, y’know.”

“No prob, boss.”

 

**Garrus**

“Ok Gabby, run the diagnostic again. I tweaked the settings on my end to reduce overheating.” I tap in the settings for a battlefield stress test.

“There’s still a wicked power draw,” she says over the intercom. “It’s better, but we’re going to run the risk of getting cooked alive back here if we’re in extended combat.”

I check over the numbers and run it through an optimizing suite EDI provided. We’ve leveled off our progress by a fair margin, but the Thanix cannons are proving to be a finicky pain. Kenneth, colorful as he is, compared it to trying to get laid with whatever a prom queen was.

“I ken it a bit strange that we’re using Reaper tech to fight Reapers.” Kenneth complains. “How’d you turians come across this, anyhow? I thought all the Sovereign parts were gutted by the Council and hidden away.”

“Hell if I know, but it’s gonna be a damn good thing that we did,” I respond. “Besides, you humans say it best; fight fire with fire.”

In truth, it was one of the worst-kept secrets by turian standards. The OTR specialists were extremely sloppy in how they managed to salvage the weapon, and were it not for the chaos on the Citadel, and Chellick’s intervention, they would have been caught and executed on sight. The turnaround time on reverse-engineering the tech, however, was inspired. In under a year the cannons were introduced for mass production, and now willing to sell to even the most enterprising human terrorist groups.

“Garrus, I made a few tweaks to the forward capacitors. Try the diagnostic again.”

I change the settings to include a little more firepower. In a real fight, we’d likely stretch everything to max capacity, but there’s no sense in scaring the crew off this early. And while Gabby and Kenneth were good, this type of work would put a little fear in anyone.

“The amount of power it’s drawing is insane. We’d have to be a little quicker on the lithium vents, but this would buy engineering another eighteen minutes of combat.”

Kenneth grunts. “And that’d be a lifetime and a half in a real firefight.”

“We’re gonna need the FBA couplings sooner than later, though. With all the other tech coming in to keep up with, it’ll shave off a lot of time. Sending you the test reports now.” A moment later, my console pings with Gabby’s diagnostic. I groan at the results.

“Are you sure we can’t squeeze a few more shots out of this? Let’s try for five-second rounds this time.”

“Oh dammit turian, fine. Y’know, being an engineer’s a thankless job as it is,” Kenneth grouses. “but you make it like pissing in the dark. All the warm feelings, but no one notices until you step in it.”

I roll my eyes and let out a laugh. “You’re the best. Running it from the top now.”

**~*~**

I leave the battery for a quick break. The guns work adequately enough, but ‘adequate’ can cost you the mission, and if you’re lucky, earn you a quick death. We’ll need to fine tune, especially if we upgrade the defense systems. I find another reason to thank Cerberus; rebuilding the _Normandy_ rather than a purely human designed ship. The turian integrations on the SR1 just _felt_ right, and this ship managed to capture most of that.

I grab a garishly bright yellow plate from the mess. For all that the ship is turian in design the food…could be worse, actually. Not Gardner’s worst attempt, and a far cry better than he used to be. He was learning, and part of me wondered if it was on his own accord. As I reheat, I see Shepard come up with two empty mugs.

“How’d going to ground go?” I ask, noticing that her mood seems a bit brighter. “I see the asari didn’t kill you on sight.”

“Did one better. She swore an oath of fealty, so to speak.” She looks a little uneasy, which doesn’t quite translate with her words.

“That translates to servant or duty for me. Does it mean something different?” I ask.

“Umm, pretty spot on. Let me think. The original context would be similar to the slave shit they call ‘indentured servitude’ here on Illium. But if the servant actually _wants_ to be of service, then there’s an honor to that, a sense of extreme loyalty. Like the Alliance in a way. She did something similar. She bound herself to follow my orders for this mission, until she releases herself from the obligation.”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

“Yeah. And when you top that with Thane…”

I suddenly feel annoyed at his mention. “What about him? You took him out on your pick-up. What happened?”

“Oh no, no, no. The mission went fine. Well. _Fine_.” She rolls her eyes. “It was just talking to him. He thinks of himself as only a weapon rather than a person with free will.” And she looks just a little too wistful about that.

“Whatever. If he can shoot straight, then he’ll be useful.” I grab my plate and head to the table.

She gapes at me a little before turning and pouring a cup of coffee. “Damn Garrus, you find the stick up your ass again?”

“Don’t know what brought that on,” I say wearily. “I’m sure he’ll make a valuable teammate.”

“Ok, whatever Vakarian. What is it _you_ don’t like about the guy?” The emphasis in her voice couldn’t be clearer than if she had subharmonics of her own. Someone else had gotten a Shepard Dress Down, and from the way her face twitches I’m next. As if I didn’t get my fair share of them years ago.

_Might as well make it count._

“Death, killing, it isn’t romantic. It’s not some kind of instant service to be monetized or taken lightly. That little display he did when we picked him up was a bit much.” I give her a hard steady look.

She matches my gaze. “I agree.”

“Then why–”

“Wait. Culture to culture, we’re all murderers to someone. And death isn’t romantic, it’s brutal, harsh. You couldn’t convince me otherwise. But monetizing it? That’s Alliance hazard pay. It’s advancing the Hierarchy, _which_ in a way romanticizes it, doesn’t it?

“After talking with those two, seems like we all have our own way of dealing with that. Not a damn one of us has a clean record, and it’s not likely to get any cleaner. Some of us feel like we’ve had good reasons. Some of us know better.” She arches her brow at me from across the room and takes a sip.

Swallowing hard, I turn away. “So one conversation with him made you go pacifist?”

She scoffs. “Not even remotely. I’m just…I don’t know. I’m on a cruise full of murderers, thugs, thieves and Cerberus. And for some holier than thou reason, I’m judging _them_ for how they kill people. Being disgusted with someone else means taking a hard look at the actions I’m responsible for.”

At that, she finishes her coffee, and moves to rinse and stow away her mug. I take in her words and movements. Still airing doubts about this. I haven’t known her to second-guess herself so much. Had she done this with Saren? She always seemed so…sure.

“I dunno Garrus, maybe I’m just rambling. But there are God knows how many lives at stake. Too many for me to get hung up on the how or why this crew does what it does. All I need is for this team to work together. And hell...maybe. Maybe get to the later.”

“Borrowing one of my lines again,” I say, smiling faintly at her as she approaches the table. She leans against it in a leisurely half-sit beside me. Probably the most relaxed I’ve seen her in weeks.

Not really thinking, I stroke her hand with my thumb. “I’ll play nice. Don’t worry.”

And between the way she’s looking at me and how absurdly fragile her hand feels, the rest of my senses go into chaos. I can feel her muscles move ever so slightly under my hand, like an entire network of strength under something so soft, exposed.

It was like this last time, just before the bridge. The slightest touch pulling me into a bizarre frenzy. Crap. Maybe the little asari was on to something.

Am I going _crazy_?

At that moment, we both hear muffled shouting coming from the XO’s office. Our heads jerk in that direction, craning to hear what’s going on.

Then a clatter followed by Miranda screaming.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Shepard sighs. “I gotta see what this is about. Talk later, alright?” She squeezes my hand before departing to the office.

I look down at my food, almost forgotten. I need to get it together before I do anything foolish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cerberus uses their company colors on large and small aspects of the ship, including marking dextro/levo rations.


	15. The Cryo Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard figures out what makes Miranda tick. Or ticked.

**Shepard**

I step into my XO’s office. The place is in shambles, completely unlike the crisp, tidy suite I’m used to. And in the middle of the maelstrom is a furious Miranda, biotics flaring sporadically.

“Well?” I ask, closing the door behind me.

“It’s nothing, Commander.”

I cock a brow at her and fold my arms.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, but I’ll need to oversee some operations on Illium.” She picks up a cracked datapad and scattered paperwork. “It shouldn’t interfere with the time we allotted for dry dock.”

I lean against the wall and stare at her, expression perfectly neutral.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” She snaps, setting a lamp back on her desk.

“You can tell me what’s going on. That’s the easy way. Or you can let me find out on my own. That’s the hard way. Believe it or not, I may even be able to help.” I motion for her to sit.

She acquiesces, and takes a deep breath. “I suppose you’re right, though it puts me in an unfortunate position. I told you about my father, and his need for a dynasty. When he created me…I have a twin, Shepard.”

“Christ, there are two of you?” She glares. “Sorry. So, why are you just now telling me this?”

“I didn’t think I would need to at all. She was perfectly hidden away from my father here on Illium. My intel suggests that my father knows of her location. He’ll come after her unless I do something.”

That’s fishy. Her father gets a tip about her sister within days of us stopping here. Miranda doesn’t seem like the type to risk contact.

_Better check for bugs again._

“It sounded like you already had a plan.”

“I do. Cerberus was able to come up with a compelling reason for her and her family to relocate. I want to be there for the transport, in case my father tries anything.”

“Sounds simple enough, which means it won’t be,” I say dryly.

“Damn it all, you just had to say it,” she mutters. “Fine, I’ll need your help on this. But no harm can come to my sister, Shepard. There’ll be hell to pay for anyone who tries.”

“When does the transport leave?”

“In about four hours.”

“I’ll notify Kasumi, and we’ll move out in two. We need to scout this out for any trouble.” I send Kasumi my instructions.

“Good thinking, Commander. I’ll meet you at the transport hubs.”

**~*~**

I peer up at the upper levels of the cargo hold, and catch glimpses of movement. Behind the stacks of crates further back, the tell-tale flickers of red beams dodge in and out of view. All around I can smell the faint ozone burn of biotics, thermite paste, and overclocked omni-tools.

I grumble inwardly. I _hate_ being right. Miranda looks at me tensely while I listen to the Eclipse welcome committee gab on and on about the wrongs Miranda committed. This coffin-stuffer apparently thinks I give two shits about when Miranda “kidnapped” her little sister, twin, whatever. I care more about what I’m gonna do the next time “bitch” flies out his mouth.

“I’m giving you one chance to leave,” I warn. “That’s more than most get.”

“Captain Enyala ordered us to give you one chance to walk away. But this whole time we’ve been talking, my men have been lining up shots. When I say the word, we unleash hell on you bitches. So I suggest you– Gaaak!”

I snap his neck. “Strike three, asshole. ANYONE ELSE WANNA SAY BITCH TO ME AGAIN!?”

“Shepard, get to cover!” Miranda shouts, ducking behind a cargo crate.

I rush towards the middle of the room, taking cover behind a pillar. “BECAUSE I’M TICKLED PINK TO HEAR YOU ASSHOLES SAY IT! JUST TRY ME, YOU DEGENERATE PIECES OF SHIT!”

I swap to my SMG and take out a commando on my right flank. Miranda slams one of the snipers above us and I aim my own orbs at them. It connects, the sniper’s back cracking against the wall.

“Left side, Commander,” I hear Miranda’s voice in my comm.

“On it,” I hear Kasumi speak, doubled over the comm and to my right. She shimmers back into view just as she stabs an armored grunt with an intense-looking serrated knife.

Well, now.

“Let’s keep moving!” I shout, rounding the corner of the cargo area.

Two more mercs come into view. I use suppressing fire while Miranda catches up. She stuns them backward with a violent blast of dark energy, where Kasumi cloaks out and shoots them point blank.

We reach the elevator we need and pile in. As we wait, Miranda hacks into one of the fallen merc’s radio. We don’t have a clue about their numbers, but it’s clear this Lawson guy means business.

“I owe you an explanation, Shepard. Oriana is my twin, genetically. But my father, he grew her when I was a teenager. She was meant to be a replacement. I couldn’t let him do to her what he did to me. So I rescued her. She’s almost a woman now.”

“Does it look like I give a shit about her age?” I sigh. “Sorry. Is what you told me about your father still true? Dangerous, wanted a dynasty, controlling?”

“Of course, Shepard. I wasn’t the first one he made, just the first one that was…viable. I wasn’t a daughter to him. I was,” she falters. “It doesn’t matter. When I took Oriana, I made sure she had a normal life. I don’t regret my decision.”

“So she gets a family, and you get Cerberus? Not exactly a fair trade,” I remark.

“I get to know she’s safe from my father. And Cerberus _does_ give me a sense of purpose, more than my father ever could. And if they can help protect her…”

_Just another fucking tool to be used. C’mon Miranda, you’re more than that._

“Alright,” I say instead. “It explains why you’re so protective. But right now these assholes could be closing in on your contact Niket. We need to keep moving.” I pause. “I hate to say the obvious, but this is more resistance than your original plan allotted for, Miranda. Does this guy even have combat skills? Is he going to be able to keep her safe?”

“Not as well as me,” she says with a wry smile. “But he’s been there for me, and he knows what my father put me through. He’ll do everything in his power to keep her out of my father’s hands.” She types into her omni-tool. “The specs indicate that we’ll need to cut through the cargo processing yard to get to Oriana from here. We’ll need to stay sharp in that area.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

**~*~**

_“This is Enyala! Niket has reached the terminal. He’ll switch the family over to our transport. Keep the bitch back!”_

Miranda’s eyes widen. “But… that can’t be right.”

“Draw them in closer and fall behind me,” I order. “You’re getting sloppy.”

She’s visibly angry and slams another merc in response. She doesn’t fall back. Instead, she rushes another guard and shoots him down, using too many bullets in the process.

I sigh. I guess we all find our breaking points somewhere. For all that Miranda yaps about being God’s gift to Cerberus, she’s just as flappable as anyone else. To see it actually directed toward something understandable, to family, is bizarre.

I’ll never quite get it. My mom is Alliance, a hard edge honed like a blade in battle, but she cared. My dad cared. I don’t have anything like a brother or sister; the Alliance saw a lot of only children, self included. But there’s no mystery to solve on how much the ice queen cares. It’s written all over the mercs she just incinerated.

And all over how she’s about to get her ass killed.

“Kasumi, watch my six,” I say wearily. “I’m gonna have to reign her in.”

“On it, Shep. You think she’ll be ok?”

“That depends on us.”

I run over to cover further along the side of the conveyor belts. Between the moving crates, I time my shots aimed towards the entranceway. If she’s not gonna back off, I might as well keep her safe first.

_“They’re nearing the transport terminal! I need all available firepower after them!”_

Dammit _._

Miranda and Kasumi are out of sight, and only one of them can blame it on a cloak. I can only hope Miranda _didn’t_ get herself killed. I scramble past the conveyor line and take cover against more crates. Relief hits me when I see a flash of white skindex just behind a railing.

I check my visor. Two, maybe three more people coming up, along with a dozen mechs. Still too far for me to overload them from this angle. I run to Miranda instead.

“I’m gonna need you to get your head in the game, Miranda. I won’t accept ignoring my orders.”

“Commander, Niket is in danger. She is after him, we _have_ to keep moving.”

 _Not what_ I _heard on the radio._

“Hey!” I grab her shoulders. “We finish this out, but you will fall in line, understood? I’m not entertaining any pissing matches or wild dashes. Fall in line, or we die. There’s no in-between.”

I release her. She rubs the side of her face, a rare sign of outward frustration.

“Understood.”

An electronic crackle interrupts my next thought. The mercs finally join the party, only to meet Kasumi’s bullets and overloading program. I watch as she hops gracefully over the railing, takes a gun from one of the corpses, and pockets a pistol mod.

“Peas in a pod,” Miranda grumbles. “C’mon. We need to see what’s going on at the terminal.”

**~*~**

We enter the elevator to the terminal. Miranda’s in full panic, pacing frantically in the tiny space. If I had a death wish, I’d tell her that her boot-clicking matches up with the smarmy elevator music. Something tells me the sudden but inevitable betrayal of her closest friend doesn’t put her in a joking mood.

“Maybe the captain knows we’re listening in and she’s feeding misinformation. Or maybe she just meant it as cocky bravado. Or maybe it just…meant something else.”

She continues to pace, fingertips flaring up in purple light. “Niket wouldn’t do that. Dammit, why can’t this thing go any faster!?”

She slams her omni-tool against the elevator console and shorts the system. We stumble as the shaft surges upward. On the bright side, whatever she did also killed the music.

“What makes you so sure he wouldn’t turn on you?” I ask. “Who is he to you?”

“He was my only friend while I was still…when I was younger. In a way he made me realize I needed to get out of there. He could have turned against me at any point when I ran away, but he never did. I’m sure my father has tried to buy him off, to find me or Oriana. If not then, then why now?”

“Was he involved when you originally took Oriana away?”

“No! I… I couldn’t involve him. It was too personal, and he only just found out about it recently.”

“Dammit,” I groan. “Look. I can understand us just now finding out about all of this, but see it from a different angle. You hid this from him for nineteen years. Would he still understand your motives?”

“I never really thought about it, but maybe,” she shakes her head. “No. He’d have to understand my reasons. He knows what I went through. He wouldn’t want it for her.”

“You’re putting a lot of trust in funny places, Miranda. What’s your gut telling you?”

“I don’t _know_ , Shepard, and that’s precisely the problem!” She slams her palm against the wall.

“You _do_ know, and that’s precisely the problem.”

The elevator dings. I do a test bounce on the balls of my feet.

“Let’s face the music.”

**~*~**

Everything about the scene feels wrong. I see the self-assured swagger resonating within the asari in the Eclipse uniform, shotgun idly across her lap. An anxious terminal employee, looking as though she’ll bolt at any moment. The man, shock and hurt stretched across his face, voice just above a whisper, “Miri.”

And the woman beside me, an ice queen any other time I’ve known her, pulled hard to port.

“This should be fun.” The asari hops from the crates and points her Scimitar at us. We return the greeting.

“Why, Niket,” Miranda starts, hard and distant. “You sold me out. You were my friend. You _helped_ me get away.”

“Yes!” He shouts. “Because _you_ wanted to leave. That was your choice! But had I known you’d stolen a baby, from a life of wealth and happiness?”

“I didn’t steal her! I rescued her!”

“Maybe she would see it differently,” he replies. “Maybe she would see a spoiled little rich girl who lied and stole to get her way. Maybe she’ll see someone who took the coward’s way out. Maybe she would have saw it your way. But you never gave her the choice to see for herself.”

“How’d he turn you, Niket?” I ask.

“Her father told me everything. About the kidnapping, about Cerberus. I told him to go to hell, but then you, Miri,” he points at her angrily, “confirmed it. I deserved to know what you’d done. But I heard it from him first.”

“How much, Niket?” Miranda trains a gun at him.

“A great deal.”

“ _Dammit_! So you just took his money.”

“Don’t get holy with me, Miri. You took his money for years.”

“Regardless,” I interrupt. “Oriana’s been with her family for years. Can’t you leave well enough alone, or is stealing her back what you’d resort to?”

“We’re not stealing her,” Enyala sneers. “We’re rescuing her. C’mon, Niket, let’s finish this bitch off and get out of here.”

 “Do you guys just write ‘bitch’ on an itinerary or something?” I rub my temples. There was still too much Minagen in my system. Great for biotics, shitty for headaches. Time to get out of here. “To hell with this lot. Niket knows where she’s being relocated, Miranda, so your father does too.”

Niket sighs. “Miranda’s father does not have any information. Only I know where she’s being relocated. You had bugs in his system, so I didn’t risk telling him.”

“Then you’re the only loose end,” she says coldly. “I’m going to miss you.”

She fires.

“Figuratively speaking.”

“Finally,” Enyala groans. “I was getting bored with the bitch’s melodrama.”

“Oh piss off,” I snap, and open fire. Miranda and Kasumi follow suit, quickly shutting up the asari.

We head towards the terminal entrance, watchful for any other mercenaries lurking around.

“You really don’t seem to like that word,” Kasumi remarks.

“You’re catching on.”

“Any reason?”

“None I feel like sharing,” I reply. “Get me drunk enough one day, and you might pry it out of me.”

“I can’t believe he sold me out,” Miranda mutters, still in shock. “And he told me and…it was like suicide telling me only he knew. I should have known better.”

I sigh. “Look, you couldn’t have known at the time, but I’d bet a thousand credits you were getting damn suspicious once things started looking funny. You can’t help who you trusted, but if a warning sign comes up, then don’t turn blind to it.”

We cross the entrance, and in the terminal some distance away is a family of three. The youngest, a girl who looks eerily like Miranda, is talking animatedly to the couple. She certainly looks the part of happy. And she looks so much _like_ her, but another version where she could allow herself to smile, to joke. To trust. No wonder Miranda was so protective, maternal, even.

Miranda looks at them with a soft awe that I have _never_ seen on her face.

“She’s safe…with her family.” She looks down, pain flickering across her features. “C’mon. We should go.”

“Miranda, wait.” I grab her wrist. “You’re her family too. Why don’t you go over there and show her that?”

“Her knowing about me would put her in danger, Shepard. Look at her. She’s got everything she needs, a better life. I’d just screw that up for her.”

“No details, then. Some people would kill to have a sister that cares. And given the carnage back there,” I jut a thumb backwards, “You know a thing or two about that.” I give her an easy smile. “Talk to her. There’s still some time before they leave.”

She hesitates. Fidgets, even. “Yeah…Yeah, I’m going over there.” With a firm nod, she strides over to the family, and I see Oriana’s face light up with surprise. And later, a grin.

“C’mon,” I gesture to Kasumi. “Let’s leave them some time alone. In the meantime, show me that mod you picked up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miranda is aware of the ice queen jokes. She amuses herself with tinkering with her incinerate protocols. That'll show them.


	16. Normandy's Still a Better Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard doesn't peek in everyone's station like an Easter Egg Hunt. But Garrus really does spend time on mindless calibrations.

**Garrus**

With the cannon upgrades done for now, I don’t have much for distraction.

The damnable woman was on my mind ever since she dealt with the fit Miranda had. I crossed yet another invisible line, another damn grey area to tangle with. But when I researched on the extranet, it was nothing she’d kick me off the ship for. At least for now.

I’ve seen Shepard’s… unique brand of charm, and definitely seen what she calls flirting. But I’ve also seen her reject. She can do gentle when the need arises, but wit, impulsiveness, and combat training is a bad combination to test. Conrad Verner would count among the lucky, and he hadn’t even hit on her. Being pent up on a suicide ship is the only likely excuse for my failing self-preservation.

As I think this, I hear the battery doors slide open followed by Shepard’s footfall. _Damn, the one time I_ want _to avoid her_.

“Hey Garrus! Hope I’m not ruining your fun calibrating but I’ve got some good news.”

In truth, she wasn’t ruining anything other than my concentration, but that’s nothing to lead into. She’s dressed in what I’ve learned was her version of casual. It’s another N7 tank top matched with close-fitting pants. She tops it with a side-pistol, because she’s never been one to _not_ expect trouble.

How one manages to wear something so sparse and still look like they’re in full gear, I’ll never understand.

“Garrus? Still with me?” She waves, reeling me back to attention.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. What’s the good news?”

“The good news is I booked us a lovely cruise to the scenic and remote Far Rim. That’s also the bad news.”

I groan. “What could possibly be important enough to go to the edge of the galaxy? Are you chasing after geth again?”

“Pretty close!” She grins, and leans against the railing. “We’ll be out in geth territory for sure. Tali. The Illusive Man gave me intel that she’s working on a mission out there.”

“Really? That _is_ good news.” I punch a button on my console. “I’m surprised we didn’t leave sooner.”

“Well normally I would’ve but,” she fidgets a little. “I did those favors for Liara.”

“That’s even better news. Were you able to clear the air at least?”

“A little. She’s…trying to take on the Shadow Broker. She won’t tell me why, but even the mention of it sends her in a blood rage. She said she won’t stop until he fits in a tea cup.”

I gape at her. “You’re kidding. The Shadow Broker is a very dangerous enemy to have.” Fist was the only agent I knew that was dumb enough to cross the notorious information broker. Whoever they, the Shadow Broker had an extensive network of agents, mercenaries, and secrets at their disposal. For Liara to take them on, the stakes had to be higher than only her own life.

“Dangerous, sure. But Liara seems determined. The intel I helped her with made her kill her own secretary. She’s changed,” Shepard says, voice harsh. “Wish it wasn’t the case, but it might be enough for her to survive whatever she’s after.”

_She had changed. We all did, Shepard._

“But you were right. I needed to think about it all a little differently.” She looks at me with a soft expression in her eyes.

I look away, slightly unnerved. “A guy could get used to hearing that,” I say wryly.

“Yeah, yeah. But anyway afterwards I met up with Gianna for drinks.” She smirks. “Real ones this time, not espionage. Remember her?”

“Parasini?” She nods. “As a matter of fact, I thought about her after your bribe stunt. So she’s on Illium now?”

“Chasing leads and some of them brought her here. Says she’s researching dark energy and some of the anomalies going around the galaxy. As it turns out, Cerberus intel suggests that Tali’s doing the same. Who knows? Maybe they can share research.”

“So there’s more to the universe than Reapers?”

She shrugs. “I guess. I’m not science enough to suss _that_ can of worms out, and with the whole end of sentient life as we know it filling my schedule, that can’ll stay on the shelf.”

I hum in response. “Maybe they’re all related somehow anyway. Hopefully Tali can shed some light on what she learned.”

She remains quiet at that, and takes to swinging her feet in odd patterns. I turn back to the console and start working on another simulation, mostly out of habit. Partly to not meet her gaze.

“So,” she starts again. “It was pretty interesting working with some of the other people we picked up.”

“Tell me about them.” I did notice that the last couple of missions didn’t involve me. Not entirely surprising since I was supervising the Thanix installation, but it felt unusual to not be on ground.

“Well, I went out with Kasumi last. She’s very…quick. She uses a tactical cloak and sneaks in at the right place to take out an opponent. It’s like she’s some little murderous spirit granting all my wishes.”

_That’s about as close to a turian saying as she’ll ever get._

“Huh. Could’ve used someone like her on Omega,” I muse.

“You do know she’s a thief, right?” She gives me an incredulous look.

“Sure I do.” I add in a firing sequence to the simulation. “But while she’s on your ship, she’s a teammate. You’ve made yourself clear on that.”

“Huh.” She looks over my shoulder at the console. “Well, ok. But if there are serious misgivings, just let me know. Your opinion still matters.”

“Noted.”

She frowns. “Geez, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were going to get all rankled about Thane either. Maybe you’d lighten up if you ever leave your hideout here.”

“I don’t get rankled, and I leave plenty of times.”

She rolls her eyes. “When’s the last time you left?”

I check my onmi-tool. Well… Damn. “Installation of very sensitive hardware shouldn’t be rushed.”

“Oh my fucking God.”

“And I’m not _rankled_. And for the good of this operation I’ll continue to not be rankled. Some of us might want to come back from this mission.”

She stops swinging her feet and gives me an unreadable look. “About that. Listen, I think I’ve been looking at this operation all wrong.”

“Wrong in what way?” I ask.

“I don’t think Miranda is the bad guy here. Jacob either. They both…seem genuine.”

“Saying that because insanity’s kicking in, or did something else happen?”

“She has a sister. A twin… Kinda.”

“Crap, there are two of them?”

She scoffs. “Yeah, exactly. But a hint of danger with that girl and Miranda’s acting like a rabid dog. Never would’ve thought she’d crack, but it was like looking in a damn mirror when uh…” She trails off.

“Mirror?” I cock my head curiously. I think back to the worst I’ve ever seen the commander. “Virmire?”

“No, uh… With you.”

A curious silence fills the confined space.

“Oh.” I frown at the memory. It certainly wasn’t one of my finer moments, and a part of me still kicks myself for not putting my helmet back on. The minor distraction of hope coming back from the dead certainly seemed like priority at the time.

I could only faintly remember her yelling, and then her voice softer before pain overtook me. I’d imagined it. I was certain that I imagined it in the delirium of pain, stims, and blood loss. But now she says it as if it were as plain as a Cipritine storefront.

I try for humor. “Didn’t know you were going that crazy about me, Shepard.”

“It’s just. You were hurt on my watch, and you were the first friendly damn face I had seen during that entire fiasco. So of course I went a little nuts back there. Would again.”

Knowing it by her actions is one thing, but hearing her say it is something else entirely. I can almost feel the floor leave my feet. Sure, she means it as a comrade, even as a friend, but it still feels…nice.

“Anyway, not the point. Miranda trusts me. She still trusts Cerberus for now, but…she trusts me. And she’s trying just a little harder to see if we can survive this thing.” She taps a message in her omni-tool. “That’s big, Garrus. Can you imagine if we can live past this?”

“I imagine we’d either be saddled with medals and paperwork, or retire somewhere warm and tropical.”

“Oh retiring’s for much later,” she winks. “But warm and tropical? Sounds good to me.”

**~*~**

Later, I finish out more firing algorithms and combat sequences. There’s a sense of calm to it; set up a scenario, run some numbers, get results. Repeat. Far more black and white than a lot of other things in my life.

Useful. This time the work I lay out is useful. Even if this all ends poorly, I can at least die knowing that something I did wasn’t a fool’s errand. Unlike Omega, these cannons should make some difference in the end.

So far I’ve been able to force myself to not think about my squad, their lives in my hand. But the fuller this ship gets, the harder it is knowing we’re all facing certain death. How does she do it? How did I? How _could_ I? I led them to a grave without even the preamble of “could be your last.”

And perhaps that was my downfall.

Weaver tried to tell me otherwise, that they were all more than happy to help with my operation. _“There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”_ She always seemed to have a quote tucked away that stacked with our situation. That quirk baffled me, especially in firefights.

I wish she had one about betrayal. The only fitting one is eye for an eye, life for a life.

I hoped to get intel on Sidonis before we departed, but my last conversation with Liara wasn’t fruitful. She tracked movements in the colonies, and found that funds were dispersed to kin through secure anonymous channels, but _he_ disappeared. The trail ran cold on Noveria, which is just too damn ironic for words.

The thought of never finding him eats at me. I shouldn’t let it.

With a sigh, I head for the shuttle bay. It’s long past time I abuse some equipment.

  
**Shepard**

“And this is supposed to help how, exactly?” I ask. “Because right now it feels like a shitty version of yoga.”

“The intent is to clear your mind, siha. Turn every movement into music, and every action into purpose,” Thane soothes. He effortlessly balances on a leg and glides into a bizarre crouch. I look to my left and see Samara moving in lockstep with a thousand-year grace.

_Show-offs._

I try the move again. It feels clumsy and awkward in comparison, but I’m finally able to mimic the position. Maintaining balance in the crouch is far from what I’m used to. If it’s difficult for the others, they sure aren’t showing it. Time to nut up. Music. Purpose.

“Let your focus guide you,” he says, his gravelly voice calm and reassuring. He moves into a new position, and purple rivulets surround his hands. Samara follows suit, a blue glow bathing her entire body. Ok, different skills. I can do this.

I attempt to move in the same position, concentrating on the crackling tingle forming in my hands.

“Focus,” he intones.

I grit my teeth. The tingle is more noticeable now. In the peripheral, I see deep purple flickers throbbing in time to my heartbeat. I feel, rather than hear, a thrum stemming from my core.

“Focus.”

It burns.

“Release,” he orders.

A flash of varying lights and colors emanate from us and impact the combat mechs in different ways. Thane’s mech has large precise holes from the three orbs he released. Samara’s mech orbits around a deep black void.

Mine is smashed into pieces against the back wall.

“That’s...different,” I remark.

“Indeed. Do you think you can try it again?” Samara asks. “Remember the feeling you had just as you released your energy.”

I concentrate again. This time, I stand in a neutral fighting position, and will the same energy around me. It tingles, same as before.

_Focus._

Ozone cracks and splits around my hands until I feel a deep burn, pushing me into a sharp clarity. I release at Samara’s mech with a strangled shout.

It hits.

Parts and shrapnel rain against the back wall.

“HOO-rah!” I shout, grinning like a kid on Christmas. “Did you guys see that!? That kicks the ass out of any barrier I’ve _ever_ done.”

“Beating a problem into submission. Not unlike my Maiden years,” Samara states, a twitch of humor playing at her eyes.

“We are all tools in this world,” Thane replies. “Some happen to be hammers.”

“Calling me a tool now?” I wink. “It’s alright, guys, tease all you want. This was actually pretty fun. Maybe the other guys will want to get in on it.”

Then I remember Jack’s promise to take up painting with Miranda’s entrails.

“Or not,” I amend. “All at once, anyway.”

We head back towards the elevator. Admittedly, I’m beginning to like Thane and Samara. Both have a calming factor to them, honed by age and experience. Deadly with a side of Zen.

The elevator opens, and Garrus stalks past in workout gear, arms exposed and shoulders rigid.

“The training proved purposeful, siha. I look forward to seeing you perfect it in battle.” Thane steps into the elevator, holding it open for me and Samara.

I glance back, eyes raking over the turian. _Damn kid, you’re giving the men a run for their money_. “Yeah, should be pretty useful for what lies ahead.”

There’s an easy silence as we ride the elevator up. We all exit on the crew level, tired and hungry, the stress of the mission ahead distant for once. Jacob is already in the mess grabbing a plate of eggs from Gardner.

“How did training go down there?” Jacob asks, heading towards one of the tables.

“I think it went ok,” I beam. “These guys are very patient if you ever feel inclined to join.”

“Maybe next time. But I was itching to get those new mods prepped up.” He points to a datapad on the table. “You can check out the specs on what we’ve got so far. Illium was a boon for us.”

“Nice. Good work.” I grab a plate, hot sauce packets, and a mug of coffee, and sit across from Jacob. He hands me the datapad to check out his work. He added phasic jacketing to some of our guns, and a new set of power amps for me. I frown at the next item.

“Skeletal bioweave. What exactly does that mean?”

“You’ll want to brief with Miranda, Mordin, and Dr. Chakwas with that one. They wouldn’t give me the details, but mainly because they didn’t want you pissed at me.” Jacob gives me a matter-of-fact look before eating another bite of eggs.

“That bad, huh?” I groan. “Fine. Anything else I should know?”

His eyes drop, and he seems to close in on himself. “It’s nothing, Commander. It won’t affect my duties.”

“Do I have to pry out everyone’s problems? Lay it on me Jacob, lord knows I’ve got the time to listen. Otherwise it’s gonna be an awkward couple of days.”

He sighs. “It might be a goose chase. My private log got an update about the Hugo Gernsback, the ship my father served on. It sent an SOS last week, reporting a crash and requesting rescue.”

Samara slides in the seat next to me, with Thane following suit. “If it was just last week, then it should be prudent to send assistance,” she states.

“Agreed,” I say. “What makes it a goose chase?”

“That ship went missing ten years ago. And I hadn’t talked to my father for three years before that. I’ve buried everything but a body. There’s no reason to get a distress signal now.”

At that, Thane slips into solipsism, an eidetic hallucination of sights, sounds, and smells. The change in his demeanor is just as startling as the first time I watched him relive his memories. When he comes out of it, his face is changed; anguish and resolve color his features.

“Your life and mine appear to be in parallel, Mr. Taylor.” Thane looks far off at nothing in particular. “Perhaps it would be a blessing to see your father again, if the chance arises. It may arise hope for me with my own son.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Jacob retorts. “But if he’s alive and needs help, then that’s another story. It’s still suspicious. The signal was passed to my personal log through Cerberus filters. That’s _not_ normal protocol.”

We mutter in agreeance at that.

“What’s your gut tell you?” I ask.

“Honestly?” Jacob scoffs. “I don’t expect to find anything but dusty old bones. Or someone trying to get under my skin. Curiosity is getting the better of me, but I’m not in any kind of rush.”

“We’ll check it out. Send Joker the coordinates of the distress signal. Even nothing is something,” I finish reassuringly.

“I hope that whatever you find when we get there brings you peace,” Samara affirms. “You as well Thane, with your son. If the relationship you have with your family is worth salvaging, then take value in it. The Code’s deepest burden is renouncing those ties, no matter how necessary.”

“Samara,” I stare. “You didn’t say anything about giving up family. Who could be so bad that you have to go that far?”

She frowns. “My quarry is, _was_ , my daughter. I am still tracking the Demeter’s movements. And when I find her, I will kill her.”

_Wait, what?_

“How… _could_ you? I… Christ, what did she do?”

“She is Ardat-Yakshi. She has spent centuries killing, and spreading despair across the galaxy. And with each person she consumes, she only gets stronger, more cunning. I would gladly relinquish my old life to stop such an evil,” she finishes coldly.

I bury my face in my hands. _I didn’t realize I was manning a pleasure cruise on the Daddy Issues SR2._

“We’ll take care of it,” my voice muffled through my palms. “Thane, try to see if you can get anything on your son once we get near a comm buoy. Samara, you do…you. Keep tracking. Jacob, let me know if anything changes with that signal. And EDI?” I look up, mostly out of habit.

“Yes, Commander.”

“I want you on this as well. Keep some processes tasked on tracking any relevant data, and report any findings to me, the person in question, and Miranda.”

“Understood, Commander. Would there be anything else?”

“Two things. Have Miranda and Mordin meet me in the medbay in one hour.”

“Very well. And the second?”

“Joker complained that you’re power-cooling the cockpit to antagonize him. Keep it up, but only for FTL travel,” I smirk.

“Understood, Commander,” she says, and there’s almost a hint of humor in her robotic voice. “Though he prefers to use the term ‘bridge’ rather than ‘cockpit.’ He says that cockpits are only for asar–”

“Nope. We’re done, EDI.”

“Understood, Commander.” Definite humor. “Logging you out.”

**~*~**

“Research obtained remarkable. Advanced skeletal weave. Cerberus prototype. Faster distribution of medigel. Bones repair in days, not weeks.”

“Because of your regen abilities you’ll find that the surgery required will hardly be invasive. And the benefits far outweigh the risks,” Miranda says crisply. She checks through the specs Mordin researched for the skeletal upgrades. “We’re looking at a full fifty percent improvement. And with your tendency to get up close and personal it’s a no brainer.”

I look around the stark white medbay. Dr. Chakwas glances at me and nods her assent while she and Mordin prep the surgical area. I lean back in the office chair and sigh. It sounds like I’m going to be just one big experiment for the rest of my life.

“How long until I’m back in action?”

“Were it up to me, you would remain on board for the full seven-day recovery time we estimate for the average soldier,” Chakwas states. “Your healing may be ‘remarkable,’ but it’s still an unknown. I don’t think we should use it as a crutch.”

“She’s no average soldier, Dr. Chakwas. I made sure of that.” Miranda eyes the doctor with a hint of a challenge. She’s nothing if not proud of her handiwork.

“Be that as it may, it is my medical opinion that she takes it easy. The stress levels alone are reason enough.” Chakwas advances towards me and scans me with her omni-tool. She holds my chin, turning my head this way and that. “I’m not liking the look of these scars. Some of them look new. It doesn’t look like the body’s rejecting the skin grafts, though.” She transfers the data over to Miranda and Mordin, who look over it with a sick kind of excitement.

“I’ve seen my upgrades in action. Surely it’s going to have enough effect to get me back moving,” I complain, grimacing. I’m starting to feel queasy just from being in here.

“Three different humans. Six different opinions. All want what’s best for Shepard. Should proceed with surgery while time permits. Delays would be…problematic.”

“Yeah you’re right, Mordin. We’ll play it by ear on the recovery side. I want to be well-prepped before we try to pick up Tali.”

“Agreed,” Miranda states. “While we have you sitting still for once, perhaps we _can_ finish up the work on your dermal tissue scarring.”

In my mind’s eye I see what they see; orange cracks scattered across my body and a faint glow lurking behind my eyes. I look a far cry from perfect these days, and no amount of skin cream is going to fix that. _I’m too damn vain for my own good anyway._

“Do it, and let’s get this over with.”  


**Garrus**

The port deck is unusually crowded. With Shepard under the knife and a few days before we have something to shoot at, some of the crew seem to have the same thought: cut loose while we can.

I decide to follow the Spectre’s advice and socialize. If I’m lucky it’ll give me a chance to avoid thinking about some of the other things on my mind. If I’m luckier, maybe even clear my head of this strange infatuation.

Zaeed, clearly enjoying himself, is regaling a story to Kasumi, Jack, and the engineers. Chambers is over behind the bar making drinks. On seeing me, she gives me a bright-eyed smile and brings out the ingredients for a Heat Sink.

Not sure how she knew that tidbit.

“Now I’ll admit that I have terrible taste in women,” Zaeed says, giving Gabby and Jack a roguish wink. “But that blue bastard was smart, I’ll give her that.”

“But she gave you the slip after you found out about Vido,” Gabby says, eyes wide. “She got away.”

“There’s not a soul alive that’s that smart little girl. I did what anyone would do to a traitor. I stabbed her and kicked her out the airlock. No hard feelings in the end.”

Jack scoffs. “And then what happened, ugly? You bust out the ship in a blaze of glory?” She shoots a drink of some blue asari liquor.

“As a matter of fact,” he takes a swig from his flask, “I did. And because of that little stint, I had enough credits to hunt down that Vido scum once and for all. I was right in the middle of doing just that when Cerberus butted their rich ugly noses into my life.  But if they give me what I need, then I’ll shoot at any damn thing that gets in our way.”

He looks at me as I take a seat on the couch across from him. “I know you’re probably looking for a taste of the action as well there, Vakarian. After what those Blue Sun bastards did to you, I’m surprised you haven’t already massacred the lot of em.”

“I won’t lament any of their deaths, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say calmly. “But I’m after my own man. I was sold out to the Suns, so there’s no love lost. I’d say you’re to blame too for founding them,” I smirk, “but you’re a decent shot so I’ll let you slide.”

Zaeed barks a laugh at that. “Decent’ll do more than get the job done, kid. One of these day’s I’ll have to show you a thing or two about real fights.”

Kasumi snorts at that. “Men and their fights. It’s much too messy and does nothing but draw attention. That might be fun for you guys and useful for someone like Thane. For my money, go in with a solid plan, keep your ear to the ground and stay out of sight, and get the hell out before they even know what hit em.”

“Well it sounds…safer at least,” Gabby hesitates.

“Don’t fool yourself thinking that,” Kasumi replies. “Everything has its risks. But if a plan goes wrong, it’s a lot easier to abort if no one knows you’re there in the first place.”

I decide right then that I like Kasumi.

“So when can we see your skills in action?” Ken asks. He turns to Gabby. “I can imagine a cloak coming in handy for… all kinds of reasons.”

We all crack a smile as Gabby punches him in the arm. Kasumi’s eyes sparkle underneath her hood. “I actually have something fun planned in the next few months, assuming we’re still alive.”

“You planned a heist in the middle of our mission?” I ask.

“Only if I can tear your girl away from all that armor for a night,” she jibs. “There’s a party I want to attend, and I want her to be my date for it.”

I ignore her implication. “You realize the only party she enjoys involve liquor, explosives, and krogan, right? She’s not exactly stealthy.”

“Have trust, my turian friend. I’ll make an infiltrator of her yet,” she smiles.

“You got your work cut out for you, thief,” Jack says. “After what she said about Pragia, you’re probably better off sneaking inside an Atlas mech.”

“I think we can all drink to that,” I drawl.

“Chambers! Line up some shots!” Jack shouts. “Even the turian’s saying we can get lit!”

_There goes the rest of the night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Alliance didn't really get on the 'Space Yoga' train until about 2179. Humanity didn't want to turn to the asari for biotic training until after BaAT was shut down. Once they did, these mnemonic-style exercises were introduced into Grissom Academy's curriculum.


	17. Quarians and Courtyards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard hates fighting in courtyards almost as much as Garrus hates fighting in hospitals. Garrus is still sulking about. Tali is a tiny ball of anger, much like her drone.

**Shepard**

After a boring and restless six-day journey to the Far Rim, we scan for any activity that’ll point us in Tali’s direction. What we find instead is a faint desperate distress beacon. Blame for not leaving sooner will have to come later. Hopefully we’re not too late.

Entering the atmosphere reveals the bad situation. The sun is too big, too old for a star its age. Being under the rays for too long is fatal, but more daunting is the fact that this star could go red giant within my lifetime. An entire solar system will be gone, along with all the history, culture and life within it. The Reapers promise annihilation, but we’re ultimately powerless against entropy.

“Shepard,” EDI starts. “Our data indicates that a quarian team is deployed in these ruins. There is considerable geth activity and an environmental hazard. Solar output has overwhelmed Haestrom’s protective magnetosphere. Exposure to direct sunlight will damage your shields.”

Because just saying shitstorm isn’t descriptive enough.

I glance over at my teammates before signaling forward. It made sense to bring Kasumi. If we’re dealing with geth, she’s the better tech expert other than Tali herself. While Miranda is skilled, Tali won’t trust her, especially after our encounter at Freedom’s Progress. If I had any shot at getting her to join me now, I had to _not_ bring a Cerberus operative.

For that reason I also brought Garrus. Not _just_ because I’ve come to rely on him over the past month, or that fighting with him felt right. _She_ knew him. Fought with him. If there’s any chance of convincing her, he’d be it. Maybe, just maybe she’ll see reason this time.

The fact that his overloads were getting better didn’t hurt.

“It’s hot,” Garrus complains.

I sigh. “You love hot.”

“Like an idiot I wore black today,” Kasumi laments.

“You always wear black,” I reply. “We need to find any sign of Tali or her crew.”

“We’re looking for quarians on a geth stronghold,” Garrus points out. “It might be easier to follow the smoke.”

“Cute.” I open one of the sealed off entrances and discover the remains of a final encounter: a dead quarian with a distress log beside him and a heavily damaged geth prime. “Well shit. C’mon, these controls opened the gate up ahead.”

The gate opens into an enclosed courtyard. Ancient structures cut shadows across the oppressive light, and for a second I take in the view. This place, these buildings used to be a colony. And even if this wasn’t their Eden Prime, it was still a symbol of their scientific progress and expansion. Now it’s the sole property of the geth, and they have no sympathy for trespassing organics.

Garrus looks up. “Incoming dropship!”

_Case in point._

We fall into shaded cover and fire at the incoming synthetics. The units in sunlight go down quickly. Their shields are as fried as ours, but they stay exposed rather than beat feet. An organic would know better. I almost feel sorry for the bastards.

“Keep em in the sun! Their shields burn out like ours,” I order.

“We’ve got six along that mezzanine, and twelve more up ahead, Shep. We have our work cut out for us crossing this courtyard.”

My arm involuntarily twitches, and I roll my shoulder. “Fucking hate fighting through courtyards,” I sigh. I hear Garrus chuff, but he says nothing. “Let’s have at it, then.”

**~*~**

Geth gunning us down makes for a cheerful afternoon. The obvious cherry on top is about a kiloton of quarian rubble blocking passage to where we last read Tali’s signal. Luckily for us, we won’t have to dig our way through like Torfan. Tali and her crew took a page from the Shepard Academy of Problem Solving and supplied her team with detonators, demolition charges, and other IEDs. I couldn’t be prouder.

I wonder idly if this is how a mentor should feel. I’ll ask Anderson one day.

With the salvaged charges tucked in the rubble, I set the timer, run for cover and count. Two. Three. On four a dull blast hits our ears, shrapnel and dust fill the air, and a grin stretches across my face.

“Explosives. Every time,” Garrus says behind his helmet.

“You weren’t kidding. So ticking time-bombs, giant grenade launchers, that sort of thing?” Kasumi asks.

“What are you guys on about?”

“Oh, just figuring out the best way to win your heart,” Kasumi replies.

“That’s not what– Dammit. Commander, I was just referencing a conversation from earlier.”

“On winning my heart?” I ask, amused.

“No! I mean, not…Kasumi has some _thing_ she has to do, and all I said was that it’d be a challenge. It’s not the type of–”

“Hold that thought. Picking up chatter.” I open the newly-liberated door, and shoot geth scouts inside.

When we go past the threshold, I take in the rest of the scene. It’s deserted save for scattered geth pieces, stray gunfire, and busted omni-tools. Further in the room is a console set-up, too modern to not belong to Tali’s team. We’re getting closer.

 “Quarian architecture,” Garrus says in awe, running a hand along one of the flora-stained walls. “Don’t usually get to say that.”

“The geth have been occupying this space for God knows how long,” I muse. “I’m surprised everything is still intact. Preserved, even.”

Every culture I ever ran across have warnings or stories about robot uprisings, rogue AI and the like. The quarians are different only in that they actively live that reality. I debated with Tali in the past over who shot first, but in the end the organics lost. And they lost big. No homeworld to go back to, no colonies, stripped of Council Space status, and left to live their days on the Flotilla, an environment so sterile that their own bodies have turned against them.

The research was clearly deemed life or death to even risk coming out here, but this? Behind a pillar I see three more dead quarians. Such a goddamn waste.

I head towards the terminal and restart it. The console turns on with a crackle, and I try to pick up the signal that lead us here. Before long I see a holo of Tali’s head pop up on the display.

“Tali’Zorah to base camp. If there are any survivors–”

“Tali, this is Shepard. Everyone in this vicinity is dead.”

“Damn it! We knew it would be... Wait, Shepard? What are _you_ doing here?”

“It’s a small galaxy. I was in the neighborhood when the distress beacon went out.” Better that she not know about the Cerberus intel for now. “How’d you pull that off, anyway? I could barely get this damn console back up.”

“I used the geth tech here to bounce a signal to the old satellites in orbit,” she says with pride. “The geth wouldn’t think to check any of the ancient technology. It was a longshot, but you’re _here_.” Her head ducks ever so slightly. “Thanks for coming, Shepard. It means a lot to hear your voice again.”

“Likewise, Tali. What’s your location?”

“The observatory. Kal’Reegar and what’s left of the marines got me to safety. From your position, it’s across the courtyard. I got the data I need, and I’m safe for now. Shepard, please be careful. And do what you can to keep Reegar alive.”  


**Garrus**

“It’s like this whole damn planet is made up of courtyards,” Shepard mutters. “It’s like I lost a bet or–”

“Duck!” Kasumi shrieks.

“Yep, definitely like old times,” I grunt, diving into cover.

The Colossus is no surprise, considering the amount of geth we’ve encountered so far. We _should_ be using a vehicle or turrets against this thing. But in the old days when the Mako’s guns overheated, we’d fight these two-story tall war machines on foot. I’ll bet anything Shepard is happy we ‘trained.’

We scramble for a better angle, avoiding sunlight and geth fire. We hear gunfire that’s not our own, and come across a lone quarian, stocky in build and wielding a rocket launcher.

He signals to us. “Over here! Name’s Kal’Reegar, Migrant Fleet Marines,” he starts as we take cover. “Got no idea why you’re here, but Tali’s inside across there. The geth killed the rest of us, and they’re trying to get to her. Best I’ve been able to do is draw their attention.”

“How’re you holding up?” Shepard asks.

“One of the bastards punched a shot clean through my suit. Seals clamped down to isolate contamination. The geth might get me, but I refuse to die from an infection.”

“You’re not gonna die period,” Shepard says tersely. “I need you to stand down and keep under cover. No heroics.”

“I don’t need your permission. My job is to keep Tali safe. I’m not gonna stand there while you run into enemy fire. They killed my whole squad!”

“Yeah? Well that’s life, soldier. You and your ego are gonna be next if you don’t stand down!” She orders.

“Shepard,” I interject. “Take a look at the layout. I don’t recommend going down the middle. We’ll be flanked by both sides, and that Colossus has a clear shot the whole way through. They see through cloaks, so that’s out too,” I glance at Kasumi. “I think we should split up; I’ll take that sniper perch over there while you two go in close along the other side.”

“And you’ll have a clear shot of anything that gets in our way,” she finishes. “Another worst-laid plan. I like it.”

I nod. “Ready to dance when you are.”

We make a break for our positions. The path to my perch is faster through partial sunlight. I take the risk, and my shields are down by the time I have my rifle ready. So I wait. I listen for abnormalities, and… nothing. Just the electronic staccato of geth chatter, Shepard’s Shuriken firing and Kasumi’s high-pitched overload.

With my shield back, I get up and scan the scene. Shepard’s making short work of a geth prime, brute-forcing her biotics against it. Kasumi’s nowhere in sight, so I check my visor to get a heat load out. Business as usual. With a sigh, I set about sniping down geth.

The plan comes together. The two women work seamlessly; where a geth stands incapacitated by Kasumi’s overload, Shepard slams it against a wall. Where Shepard overloads instead, Kasumi appears out of thin air to mangle it point blank. More than once, Shepard flashes her classic grin at the thief, the clearest sign of a compliment. All the while I snipe geth.

_It was your strategy to begin with. Can’t be angry if she followed it._

I resume my rhythm of point, shoot, repeat. We’ve all done this before. It’s no different than any other time. Except any other time, I’d hear her harassing me through the private comm. Perhaps I overstepped after all. Perhaps it’s silly to get moonstruck over my commanding officer.

We should probably just _talk_ about it rather than worrying.

“Shields are down,” I call into the comm. “Fire at will.”

We concentrate fire from two fronts at the Colossus and tear down the armor plating. With no more ground units, I drop from the perch and get in closer with my assault rifle. I hear a tinny whine coming from the other side, and I ready my overload sequence.

“Last one!” Shepard yells.

A haze fills the air as the Colossus explodes. The lightshow ends quickly and on the other side of the smoke I see her scanning the wreckage with her omni-tool. The woman loves her salvage.

“We’re clear. How’d you fare on your end?” She walks up to me, eyes hidden behind her visor. “Injuries?”

“No,” I reply. “Safe and sound. Boring, even.”

She smirks and motions to a barricaded door. Shepard signals Tali the all clear, and when we walk in, she’s downloading data from a console. She’s here, and memories of the young quarian pilgrim come flooding back. It really _has_ been far too long.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” Tali sighs. “If not for you, I would never have made it out. This whole mission has been a disaster. I’m sorry I didn’t join you back on Freedom’s Progress, but this mission was too risky to leave to someone else.”

“Tali I get it, don’t worry. But what about now? I could still use the help.” Shepard’s jaw flinches ever so slightly, like she’s expecting the same response from Horizon, or even Illium.

No helmet or enviro-suit could mask Tali’s weariness when she answers, “The mission is done. If the Admirals have a problem with my absence they can go to hell. I just watched my team die.”

“Not all of us, ma’am.” Kal’Reeger limps into the room, every bit a soldier despite his injuries and weak immune system. He’s worse off than he was letting on.

“Reegar! You made it!” She rushes to him, checking over his suit before finally clasping hands.

“Your old captain’s as good as you said.” He nods to us as he leans heavily against Tali. Quarians tend to be more physically emotive, second only to the asari. But I worry this particular display indicates a need of medical attention. “She’s all yours now, Shepard. Keep her safe.”

**~*~**

“How! How can you stand it on this ship, with these…these _bosh’tets_?”

Tali paces around the battery, eyes glittering behind her helmet. She always was a bit energetic, but I could never describe her as pissed. Until now.

“I take it debriefing went well,” I reply.

“An AI, Garrus. There’s an AI in control of this ship! Don’t you know how many of them we fought!? We’re literally trying to _destroy_ the Reapers and they allow an AI at the helm?” She stalks up to me and glares. Or at least, there’s no mistaking the intent.

“She’s ah, actually not that bad. She’s shackled, not exactly in control of the ship.”

Tali folds her arms and cocks her head at me. “You honestly _believe_ that? Listen to yourself!” She sighs. “What did I miss? Who _are_ these people? I went to engineering, and it’s not Adams down there. Just these two rookies, and one of them I’m sure is an idiot…”

“You probably mean Kenneth. He’s smarter than he acts. Which… isn’t saying much, but he’s a good kid.”

She rolls her head, exasperated. “And there’s some, I don’t even know how to describe her but she’s creepy and mean. And the drive core doesn’t sound the same, and ugh! What have we gotten ourselves into, Garrus?”

I lean against the railing and stare at the ceiling. What indeed. She’s raising nothing but valid questions, of course. And for once, someone is offering an outside perspective on all this craziness. Perhaps at one point I questioned it, hell, maybe would’ve rebelled against it. Now? I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“I don’t know,” I finally answer. “There’s a lot riding on this mission. A lot riding on Shepard. I think more than anything now, I just want to look out for her. Keep her alive. Which is hard to do,” I smirk.

“So I’ve heard. What’s the deal with _that_ , by the way? I got the news before you did, and she’s so damn cagey about it! She won’t even humor any of my questions. I tried to get some of the details from Joker, and _he_ barely said a full sentence.” She paces again. “Has she talked to _you_?”

“Not exactly,” I lie. Like hell I’m going to discuss Shepard’s blatant fears laid bare before me. That’s for her to discuss with whom she pleases.

“Who else knows? Anyone from our old crew? Wrex? Liara? Kaidan?”

“Not sure about Wrex, but we ran into Liara and Kaidan. They’re well aware of what she’s doing.”

“And they’re not here,” she says curtly. “That’s not a good sign. What have we gotten ourselves into, Garrus?”

“I don’t know, Tali. But she’ll be glad to have another friendly face on board.” _So to speak._ “Someone she can trust. There hasn’t been a lot of that these past few months. You can help keep her sane.”

“Always.” She turns back to me and cocks her head again. “And what about _you_? Last I remember, your face was fully intact. _Keelah_ , what did I miss?”

I wince. “Long story. Are you sure you want me to get into it?”

“You love stories,” she says dryly. “Would you rather there be an elevator?”

“Funny, quarian. Shepard found me on Omega. We took down some mercs, and I may have taken a rocket to the face.”

The glow in her eyes appear larger. “What? How did…why… _what_?”

“I said it was a long story,” I drawl.

“Both of you are insane, you know that? Probably from the very beginning. Coming back from the dead, rockets to the face, what else is there?”

I smirk. “Have you met the rest of the squad yet? You mentioned Jack, the creepy biotic in the bowels. There’s Jacob and Miranda, you met them already. But we’ve got a salarian mad scientist, a thief, an assassin, a merc, a krogan of course, and a justicar.”

“What’s a justicar?”

“Like an asari assassin with a strict moral code, I guess.” I shrug. “Or something like that.”

“Sounds familiar,” Tali says, folding her arms.

“Hey, I’m no assassin. Nobody’s been paying me for it, at least.”

“Insane,” she sighs. “Utterly insane. What was that she used to say? Worst-laid plans? This is one of them.”

“She still says that, for whatever that’s worth,” I offer helpfully.

“Keelah. Just like old times.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tali grew up vegan, as is typical of quarians. During the hunt for Saren, Garrus introduced her to fried louza wings, triple-sterilized to keep her from having a major reaction. She stated that they were worthy of a pilgrimage gift, then vomited fourteen GS hours later.
> 
> Chakwas was _pissed_.


	18. The Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and crew intercept a turian patrol signal.

**Shepard**

I look over the roster with Miranda and sigh. We might be enough to take on the Collectors now, but we still don’t know what we’re getting into. Our squad’s got enough balance to adapt, but I’m still wary about the path ahead.

“We have our heavy hitters,” I say. “And we’ve got infiltrators covered. Honestly? When we took the Collectors on last time, I was more concerned about the aftermath.”

“Medics,” Miranda replies.

“Yeah.” I flex my arm. “I hate wasting talent, but you and Mordin are the only ones that can do more than field patch-ups. You might not see much action.”

“Commander, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself,” she starts. “But I understand your concerns. That and Mordin asked how many livers humans had. It might be good to have a second opinion.”

I snort. “Valid question, considering my upgrades. I haven’t had a hangover yet, not for lack of trying.” I touch the large console screen and move Miranda’s name under Mordin’s. Then for good measure I add Jacob’s name under hers. _They make a good team. There’s trust there._

“Be grateful you even _can_ get drunk. We had other options, but after seeing footage of you sauced after the Citadel battle, we voted in favor of fun.” She transfers the roster over to her omni-tool, and closes down the display. “This should be suitable. I recommend that we try the ground teams out on some clean-up runs. A few requests have come in that we can check out, and it’ll be good practice.”

“Agreed. We’ve got to get resources as well, so it’ll be killing two birds with one stone.” I open up another display detailing human colonies outside of Alliance and Council space. “Speaking of resources, how’s this coming along?”

“Surprisingly well, though I’m sure slower than you’d like,” Miranda replies. “The Illusive Man wouldn’t budge on your request, so all AA gun installations are explicitly funded as Cerberus unless they decline aid. However, the majority of the colonies aren’t looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

“And the safe houses?” I ask. I look at the colonies that refused help from Cerberus, the Alliance and ‘privately funded’ corporations. If they wanted to get their asses kicked by Darwin, then so be it.

“Same story. Most were eager to install them, but some learned that a salarian was behind the shielding technology and wanted no part in it.”

“Idiots,” I grumble. “Well, we’re doing our job at least. Buy us enough time until we figure out how to stop the Collectors once and for all.”

_“Commander, urgent message coming in from the Illusive Man,”_ Joker pipes in. _“Patching him through to the comm room.”_

I look and Miranda curiously, who shrugs back just as confused. “Thanks, Joker. Let him know I’m on my way. I get the feeling this isn’t a practice run.”

I make my way to the briefing room. As soon as the quantum entanglement connects, I see a holographic image of the Illusive Man smoking a cigarette and pacing slowly. As stoic as this guy is, he might as well be in a seizure from excitement.

“We caught a break. I intercepted a distress call from a turian patrol. They encountered a Collector ship and were wiped out, but not before they crippled it. I need you to board that ship and gather data on the Collectors. We’ll use that data to get to their homeworld.”

“Hang on,” I start. “That Collector ship we saw was huge. How the hell did a turian patrol take one out?”

“Reports indicate the hull’s intact, but all systems are offline. They could be making repairs, or they could have backup arriving. I’m not saying it won’t be dangerous, but we need to get there first. This is too big an opportunity” His eyes glitter with excitement, and I find myself unnerved again at those weird prongs. “I stalled for time by intercepting the transmissions. We’re feeding the turians false reports so they won’t send a recon team yet.”

“How reliable is this intel?” I ask.

“Intel is my weapon, Shepard. It’s good,” he replies smugly.

“We’ll check it out. Send the coordinates.”

“Already sent. Once you’re aboard the ship, establish an uplink with EDI. She’ll mine their data for anything useful. Good hunting, Shepard.” He disconnects the link.

Joker’s voice chimes back in. _“Let’s go find us a Collector ship, Commander.”_

**~*~**

“We’ve got visual, Commander.”

I peer over Joker’s shoulder at what looms ahead. Sure enough, it’s the same type of layout; oddly cylindrical with something not quite organic about it. Like the massive ship is crawling with termites.

I clinch my fists. “EDI, what can you tell me?”

 “Very low emissions. Passive infrared temperatures suggest most systems are offline. Thrusters are cold.”

“How the hell did the turians take that thing out?” Joker asks. “I don’t see any debris.”

“Damn fine question.”

“Radar scans do not detect any hull breaches on the side facing us. I detect no mass effect field distortions. It appears the drive core is offline,” EDI finishes.

I don’t like this. The Illusive Man did say that the hull was intact, but there’s no telling how a turian patrol was able to power down a ship that size. We have to stay on guard for this.

“Rendezvous in thirty seconds, Commander. Good luck,” Joker waves me off.

I head down to the shuttle bay, where Jacob double-checks our equipment and Mordin scans our upgraded shields. The unease nags at me even more. I shake the thought aside as I run through the roster.

“Ok, people. This is reconnaissance only. No heroics; get in and get the hell out. We’re walking straight into an unknown, so sound an alert at the first sign of danger. Ping EDI of any notable intel as you go. Survivors are secondary. If they’re sick or indoctrinated, they’re past saving.

“Garrus and Tali, you’ll be with me. Zaeed, I want you, Jack and Grunt on our six. If anything comes at us, hit em hard and heavy, then get the hell out of there. The rest of you will be on standby as our backups. You know your job. Move out!”   


**Garrus**

The cavernous ship is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It pulses and throbs around us, more living organism than a spacefaring vehicle. Even the floor gives and shudders under our footsteps, a thick pliable film covering most of the area, ending abruptly in sharp metallic walls. The place feels too close, too humid.

“This place is certainly…exotic,” I drawl.

“Not how I would put it,” Tali responds. “This is even creepier than Feros.”

“Penetrating scan have detected an access node near the power core,” EDI reports. “Shepard, I have also compared the ship’s EM signature to known Collector profiles. It is the same vessel you encountered on Horizon.”

I hear Shepard let out a breath. “…That’s not what I was expecting to hear.”

“The colonists might be aboard. If they’re still alive,” I reason. I peer into one of the now-familiar pods. “These are the same containers, at least.”

“They were trapped in these things?” Tali asks. “Can you even imagine?”

“I’d rather not,” Shepard returns. “Let’s try to make this quick.”

We continue on through the corridor. There’s no uniformity to the ship at all, save for the metal frames underneath. The smell is off, like a giant festering wound. It reminds me too much of the seedier pits of Omega. Sanitary conditions apparently didn’t apply to the Collectors, either.

Our rearguard catches up to us, laden down with shotguns and heavy weapons. The six of us proceed through another room filled with dead bodies and pods. This room at least has a still-functioning console beside one of the bodies. An experiment. Shepard directs Tali to gather data while we scan the perimeter.

“That’s one of the bug things,” Jack announces. “They made it into a test subject.”

Shepard comes over to me and pulls me to the side. “I don’t like this,” she murmurs. “There’s not enough damage around here to cause an outage. The story is turian patrol team. You know about standard protocol. Is this,” she gestures “enough damage from both the AA towers _and_ turian frigates?”

I look over at Grunt pace around Zaeed and Jack, the tension of this place putting the young krogan in a frenzy. Jack is neutral-faced, the only tell being her fists glowing and stopping in a tense rhythm. We can all feel it in our plates.

“This looks bad Shepard,” I reply. “There’s too many life support systems online. Any good team would try to take those out first. Besides that, there would be remains of the ships. Debris.”

“Yeah. This is high on the shit-scale. We need to get the hell out of here ASAP.”

“EDI,” Tali says across the room. “I’ve uploaded the data to your systems. It looks like it might be data on the Collectors themselves. Can you translate it?”

“Analyzing. The Collectors were running genetic comparisons between their species and humanity. The preliminary results reveal a quad strand genetic structure, identical to traces collected from ancient ruins. The Protheans are the only race known to have this structure.”

“Christ.” Shepard moves toward the body. “The Protheans have been working for the Reapers this whole time.”

“These are no longer Protheans. There are signs of extensive genetic alteration and cybernetics.”

“Like husks,” she says. “Someone get a tissue sample, and keep moving. They have to be stopped.”

“No shit. I’m not letting the Reapers turn me into some kind of fucked up bug thing.”

“In our case, it’d be the fucked up zombie things you were kicking around on Horizon, not bugs. When you think about it like that, it makes sense. We have our husks now, why not have the husks you made fifty thousand years ago? Fuck it, maybe even the keepers are in on it.”

Shepard looks further down the corridor, then back at the corpses. “Such a fucking waste,” she mutters. “C’mon everyone, keep moving.”

**~*~**

We move further in the ship and find an expansive alcove, the ceiling covered with more of the pods. Hundreds, and all glowing with a dim orange haze within the cells. Beyond the main chamber, we find a massive opening, with countless, millions of pods. They run together in an endless texture like… skin.

“Keelah…”

“This isn’t just a human problem, whatever they’re after,” I realize. “This is unbelievable.”

“We need to stop them.” Shepard moves further up, signaling for us to follow. “Here, this is it. You guys fan out, Tali and I are gonna set EDI up on this control panel.”

“There’s no one dead from battle,” Grunt says to me. “This feels wrong.”

I keep an eye out as Shepard and Tali rig the console. The two of them murmur softly with the occasional swear word as they manage to pry off panels. Amusing that half of Shepard’s swears are in the same quarian dialect as Tali’s. They loved tinkering together back then, and it’s a strange comfort that at least _some_ things haven’t changed.

“Almost…there!” Tali crawls from the other side of the panel as the console turns on with a dull hum.

“EDI, you should be set. See what else you can get from the data banks.”

“Data mine in progress.”

We wait tensely for a solid minute. So far we hadn’t seen any action, bizarre as the situation may be. But if we’re able to get what we came for then this will be a major bonus against the Collectors. I turn to Grunt, still clearly agitated, and try to give him a reassuring nod.

The console crackles and goes dead, and defunct modules in the room gain power one by one.

“Joker…Give me good news, buddy,” Shepard warns.

“Major power surge on our end, but we’re back up now. EDI diverted the worst of it.”

“Shepard,” EDI chimes in. “This was not a malfunction. This was a trap. I am having trouble maintaining connection. There is someone else in the system. I will need to finish the download before I can override them.”

The floor beneath us shakes and separates.

“Shepard! We need to get the hell out of here!” I reach for her as the platform divides. She ignores my hand and points to the other team.

“Get them out of here! We’ll be fine,” she says, her voice even.

“Like hell I’m leav–”

“Go, Vakarian! That’s an order. Get them out of here.”

The platform separates completely. Straight ahead, drones fly in from the caverns above. _An ambush._ I look back at Shepard punching in code into the console. No doubt trying to help that damned AI.

Then Grunt lets loose a battle cry and charges.  


**Shepard**

_If I expect the worst, I’m usually pleasantly surprised._ Words Garrus told me once upon a time, in a different life where my second biggest problem was figuring out how to dismantle a Colossus. Words to live by.

But that platitude goes out the airlock when a platform _flies_ out of nowhere and lands by us. A new fleet of Collector drones swarm in, and the chamber hums with gunfire. We dive for cover behind the console. _There’s still always something worse, right?_

I snap a heat sink into my Vindicator. “Tali looks like it’s date night. Got your candlesticks ready?”

“Always. Shepard, are they going to be alright?”

“They will if Garrus has anything to say about it.” The first confident thing I’ve said all day.

_“THIS HURTS YOU.”_

Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , not this guy. Please not this guy.

“Target the glowing asshole!” I shout. “EDI, we need to get the hell out of here. Status!”

“Eighty-four percent. However, I am simultaneously fighting Collector firewalls in over eight thousand nodes. I am tasked to capacity.”

“Better than five thousand at least,” I mutter. “More incoming!”

I blast at Scions, the agreed-upon name given to what Jack and I called the ‘floating brain things.’ Tali’s combat drone floats overhead, seeking out hostiles to dispatch. Harbinger’s presence becomes less frequent. Part of me is thankful. Another part is afraid for the other team. I should have made Tali go too, but I couldn’t do this alone.

“I have regained control of the platform, Shepard.”

“Good. Can we get the hell out of here?”

“I do not have full control of their systems but I will do what I can. Sending coordinates to shuttle extraction. The rest of the crew are onboard and suffered minor injuries.”

I breathe a sigh of relief I didn’t know I was holding.

“Shepard,” EDI continues. “I found data that will help us navigate the Omega 4 relay. I have also located the turian distress call that served as the lure for this trap. The Collectors were the source. It is unusual.”

Tali and I break into a sprint following the coordinates EDI supplied.

“More unusual than the world’s angriest glow worm hot on our humps?”

Lights flicker on, and a hum penetrates the walls and floor.

“Shepard, the ship!” Tali screams. “Hurry!”

“Turian emergency channels have secondary encryption. It is present, but corrupted in the message. It is not possible the Illusive Man would believe the distress call was genuine.”

We reach the end of the corridor but a metal barrier blocks our way.

“Fuck! Get this open! EDI, why?” A cold sweat burrows down my spine.

Tali slams her omni-tool through the door seam, fingers flying across her screen. She looks at me, posture startled.

“EDI. It’s…helping.”

“Of course she is,” I growl. “She could vent us at any point, but she doesn’t. EDI! Why?”

“I found the anomaly with Cerberus detection protocols.” She hesitates. “He wrote them.”

I feel my stomach heave. The door opens.

“Uh Shepard, any time now?” Joker comes in. “The weapon systems are reactivating. I’m not losing another _Normandy_ today.”

_Fuck._

Ahead are more Collector forces. _I don’t have time for this._ I pull Tali by the wrist and fling her into cover. This is bordering on the worst, so I’ve nothing to lose.

_Focus._

_“IF I MUST TEAR YOU APART, SHEPARD, I WILL.”_

Rage. Clarity.

_Release._

Harbinger and the remaining drones slam against the muck-covered wall. I grab Tali and run for the rendezvous point. I had to agree with Joker. Losing another _Normandy_ would be a real pain in the ass right now.

Dead ahead is the shuttle. Dead ahead is Garrus and Zaeed providing covering fire as we run. I break into a sprint with renewed vigor, dragging Tali with me. We scramble into the shuttle, dimly aware of everyone else’s presence.

“Get us the fuck out of here.”

**~*~**

I don’t bother with a debrief yet. Instead I cast off my armor, ignore Miranda’s frantic chatter, and make a beeline to my quarters. I need to address the crew and confront the Illusive Man. What happened was not ok. But I’m not ready yet.

No one’s seriously wounded, but only by sheer luck. The worst is Tali with a minor suit rupture. She assured me that she’ll only have a fever for a few days, but Chakwas has her in a clean room just in case. We got the data we need, but just barely. I leave the shower and prep for bed. No amount of work is getting done in my state of mind.

Just as I pull on shorts and a tank, the door to my cabin buzzes. _Dammit_. I made it clear to everyone down there that business would resume the next standard day and not a minute sooner. I ignore it, and brush my teeth instead.

It buzzes again.

I spit and rinse my mouth angrily. I unlock the door, ready to give an earful to whoever is blatantly disobeying my orders. When the door opens, in walks Garrus holding a six-pack of beer and a bottle of what I recognize as turian whiskey. Without word or preamble, he sets the items on the table and roots around for glasses from my minibar.

Just how the hell did he know my entire room layout from just one night? Watching him set up was just amusing enough to let some of my anger fade. It’s _almost_ sweet, in a turian sort of way. But there’s a strange kind of comfort seeing him prep for an evening of getting hammered.

He glances up at me, eyes curious and…something else. Then as though deciding something, he takes a seat on the couch and flicks a finger to the glasses. “I’m not drinking alone tonight, Shepard. Get down here.”

A jolt runs through me for an instant, but I ignore it. _There goes the rest of my bad mood._

“You’ve got some nerve, Vakarian. What are you doing stealing away in a lady’s quarters in the middle of the night?” I flop on the couch and take a glass of beer.

“Evening shift’s barely started. I’d hardly call it middle of the night.” I watch as he pours the sweet-smelling liquor in his own glass. “Besides, you didn’t like ‘walking on eggshells’ or whatever you humans say, so I’m just following that advice.”

“Ok then. Something on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he drinks slowly, ice-blue eyes scanning the room, seemingly taking in every detail. Pointedly not looking at me. A slow prickle goes down my neck, like I’m being watched. I take a sip of my beer, grimacing at the mix of bitterness and toothpaste. Best to wait him out.

Finally, “Shepard, what’s one of your greatest fears?”

Wow. Wasn’t expecting that to be what he leads in with. “I feel like I’m already living it, Garrus,” I reply, slumping further into the couch. “You’re talking to someone who’s already died, remember?”

He turns his head toward me slowly. “I mean it.”

“Christ, I don’t know. Dying again, maybe. Asphyxiation. The fucking Reapers. Losing everyone. Take your pick, I’m full of em.”

“A lot of them,” he mutters. We sit in silence, the only sounds coming from the faint glubs of the fish tank, and the ever-present hum from the ship. “Listen, Shepard. What happened down there…I just. I didn’t like being put in that situation.”

“You think I like being lead nose-first into a trap?”

“Not that. Well, not _just_ that. You put me in charge of them, and I don’t know if I’m cut out for that.”

“What?” I blink. “Garrus, of course you are. They came back safe. Hell, that was the only part of the mission that went _right_. I knew I could count on you to do it.”

“We were lucky and just barely. We ran into a Praetorean down there. It wasn’t easy.” He takes a long drink and leans further into the couch. “Jack knew the drill from the last time. Zaeed fell in and followed what I was doing. _Grunt_ ,” he spits out the name, “needs work. I don’t think it was his fault completely, it was like he was having some kind of fit. It was nerve-wracking and you…” He sighs. “Weren’t there.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “But you got them through. You managed to get the misfits of the bunch out of there no worse for wear. That’s pretty big.”

“Your vote of confidence is noted,” he drawls. “I don’t know how I feel about having anyone follow my orders anymore. Look where it got me. You put them in my care without a second thought. And to top it off, you made me leave you there.”

“Me? C’mon Garrus, how was that different from half the missions we’ve ever been on together?”

“It’s different. And you know it is.”

I roll my eyes. Sure I know it’s different. It’s not often I’m lead into a trap. I endangered my crew and it feels awful. But he’s taking this as a personal affront and I don’t know why.

“Garrus can you stop beating around the bush and just tell me what’s going on? There’s no way you’re this worked up unless there’s something behind it. For Christ’s sake, I thought you were here to unwind, not give me the third degree over finishing a download.”

He huffs. “Fine, let me start over. This mission was bad news right from the start. I don’t know why the hell you decided to stay down there instead of for once thinking about coming back alive. You made me live through two of my biggest fears. One is leading people, Shepard. The thought of any of them dying on my watch? And I don’t like these people nearly as much as my old squad.” He takes a long drink. “Zaeed I like. For a merc.”

I snort at that. “Joker said he reminds him of me, except Zaeed gets paid.”

“I can see that,” Garrus nods. He casts a sidelong glance at me. “Easier to look at, though.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. He…probably doesn’t mean anything by that. That or turian booze is strong enough to compare me to a guy who’s more scars than face. I paw at my cheek on reflex. Right when I almost got used to the craggy texture, it’s back to baby smooth again.

“Fair enough,” I say, drawing out the words carefully. “What was the second fear?”

“I’ll need another glass,” he sighs. “You’re probably not gonna like it.”

“Ok now you’re starting to sound like Liara.”

He lets out a harsh sound, a hybrid of a choke and a laugh. “Figures. I could blame her for all of this, if it wasn’t going this way anyway. Spirits, what the hell am I even doing here?”

“I don’t know, but can we just skip to the end? Listen, if you don’t want to talk about it we ain’t gotta. I didn’t want to talk about the mission anyway and here we are. Talking.” I crack open another beer. “Not that I don’t enjoy you getting drunk off your ass moping over whatever your problem is.”

…And now he’s glaring like he wants to throttle me. I stare back, taking a swig from the bottle. This is closer to my Garrus. Not exactly the same cocky asshole that’s been my rock, but closer. He’s showing the side of him that puts up a challenge. The side of him that can take one.

The thought makes me grin at him. Garrus is stronger than this, stronger than whatever’s bothering him.

He lets up and shakes his head, good mandible flared. “Spirits, you piss me off. It’s that damn smile of yours.” He takes another long drink. “You know I love seeing that smile? Always there just before someone gets their ass handed to them.”

I look at him warily.

“And when it’s at me it’s… Damn, I don’t know.” He trails off.

_He can’t mean…like_ that _. Can he?_

Even if he did… He’ll forget all of this in the morning, and we’ll be better off for it. Everything will go back to normal. We’ll laugh about it, and I’ll give him shit for not holding his liquor. I finish off my beer and start another.

We’ll both move on. Nothing to see here.

Silence hangs in the air.

_That’s not what you want._

“What was that second fear, Garrus?”

Pale blue eyes bore into me, intensely warm.

“Never seeing that smile again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most humans think that dextro-based foods smell sweet or occasionally like mint.


	19. Local Flavors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus is hungover. Shepard tackles some issues to avoid other ones.

**Garrus**

“What you need is another ship to really do some damage. Take the damn thing to FTL, then collapse the field just after you pod out. Whatever that thing hits will blow into goddamn smithereens.”

“That’s not how mass effect drives work,” Tali mutters as she clips the specialized container for her ‘breakfast’ onto her clean-suit.

“Bet you’re tons of fun at parties,” Zaeed responds. “What would you do?”

“Keep it simple. Just write them a letter telling them we quit. Then deliver it to them with a nuke.”

“We’re already doing that, remember?” Jack douses her stack of grated circles with some kind of brown fluid. Waffles, I remind myself. “Shitheels like him, you gotta do something special.”

We’d just been debriefed on what we already knew from the beginning. The Illusive Man was not to be trusted, and the intel he gave us was a trap. What Shepard said next sparked the lovely breakfast conversation now. He knew the ship was a trap, but the intel he demanded outweighed every life on this ship. It wasn’t lost on us that he was willing to sacrifice over four billion credits of work if it meant getting what he wanted.

Shitheel didn’t begin to describe him.

“Well go on then, kiddo. What would you do? Sic another space station on them?” Zaeed folds his arms and glares at the tiny human.

“I don’t like doing the same thing twice. Would have to be a nice big one for me to bother. Something no one would miss.”

“Omega,” I answer, feeling a sour taste in my mouth.

“Now you’re talking, scar-boy.” She leers at me. “Get rid of that mouthy bitch Aria in the process? Pretty fucking win-win to me.”

“Who’s Aria?” Tali asks.

“Asari kingpin out on Omega. A little full of herself. My squad never got around to tangling with her,” I reply. I pick at my breakfast, slices of dextro bacon and charra fruit, and peer through the medbay window. I would love something for this hangover right about now.

“So what the hell are we waiting for, anyway?” Jack stabs into her plate and glances at Miranda’s office. “We got done talking, and they’re still up there, right? Garrus, what do you know?”

“Same as everyone else, I imagine. Wrap up some loose ends, gather resources. She wants the crew and the ship at a hundred percent while we wait for the other Cerberus team to extract an IFF.”

“Again with this. Keelah, remember what Kaidan said? Something about getting blood from a stone. She wouldn’t rest until we all had the best gear and resources possible before taking on Saren.” Tali shudders theatrically, clearly putting on a show for the newcomers. “Then she had us ‘practice’ on thresher maws! Only _she_ wanted to go on foot because Wrex challenged her.”

I would relive every year I spent learning human expressions just to enjoy Jack and Zaeed’s face right now.

“Bullshit.”

“Gotta go with the princess on that.” Jack glares at him in response.

I grin at Tali. “If we have time, we should pay Wrex a visit on Tuchanka. I’m sure they would love to catch up.”

The elevator opens. Out strides Miranda, stoic as ever. She heads to her quarters followed by Shepard. I don’t know how she does it, but Shepard manages to look more lethal than the irate krogan right behind her. She storms toward Miranda’s office, then turns.

“Look, I don’t know! Do what I would do. Eat some Tastee Bites, train in the shuttle bay, _something_ , Grunt! Nothing to be done for it now. We’ll figure it out.”

She walks into the office. The young krogan looks at the office door, then at us. He shuffles over and sits heavily on one of the crates by the table.

“What’s eating you?” Zaeed asks.

“This rage. It’s not mine. Something is wrong with me. I shouldn’t be this angry.”

_Oh great. This again._

“Isn’t the angry krogan card kinda your thing?” Jack asks. “How’s this any different?”

“It’s not mine. It’s not earned. Your anger radiates around you, stinks up the air,” he sneers, pointing at Jack. “But it’s yours, and it’s strong. All of you, angry, and stronger for it. If this isn’t mine, if I can’t find the source and control it, I’m weak.”

“If you’re weak, then we’re all doomed,” I say, aware of the double meaning. I cock my head toward the office. “What did she say about it?”

“Follow her example for now. Channel my anger to hit harder. She mentioned a word.” He looks at us puzzled. “What is a Wrex?”  


**Shepard**

“Before you say anything, he is not a mistake. We just need to sort out what’s wrong with him.”

“That’s two outbursts, Shepard. One more and I’ll restrain him myself.” Miranda glares at me, and for a split second I’m on the Kilimanjaro getting dressed down by my mom.

I rub my temples. “We won’t resort to that. We won’t have to. I’ll talk to Mordin, and we’ll set course for Tuchanka. Figure out what the hell is wrong with him. I have a friend there and as much as he’d hate to admit it, he owes me one.”

“Ah yes, this _Wrex_ character. Let’s hope he’s happier to see you than your other companions.”

Well, she didn’t have to remind me. Besides, the past few months haven’t been as bad as they could be. Tali joined up after all despite her suspicions. Liara can’t, but she doesn’t hate me. That or she hates the Shadow Broker more. Kaidan kinda… ceased contact. For the best, right? And then there’s Garrus. I still don’t know what to do with that one.

“I’ll worry about it once we get there. We’ll set course and gather supplies and resources on the way. Y’know, basically the plan we had before your boss went full Machiavelli on us.”

Miranda frowns. Instead of answering, she sits at her desk and pulls up a large screen from her console and types. “Just so you’re aware, this report to the Illusive Man states that your crew understood the reasoning behind the tactical deception, and are still committed to the mission’s success. Which they are.”

“No they’re not. They’re barely committed to me.” I let out a long sigh, feeling the fight in me drain. “Miranda. Something I’ve been meaning to say, but I didn’t want to spook anyone in the debrief. This ‘hand-picked squad.’ Not counting myself, we’re made up of people who are either off the grid, high-risk, or unknown in some capacity. In other words, they’re all expendable. Not only that, but in the long run they’ll endanger Cerberus and their principles.”

I walk over to the observation window and stare at the stars. Trying to get more and more used to seeing the wide expanse I loved so much as a kid. I hear muffled arguing from the mess. Probably another shouting match from Zaeed and Jack, poster children for the Case in Point Club.

“I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me to hear you say that, given your record.”

“Don’t mistake my words,” I say, fixing a hard glare on the operative. “Given enough time any one of them would betray Cerberus, Miranda. So why does the Illusive Man want _you_ dead?”

Her eyes widen in shock. “You– Shepard, no. Look, he had his reasons to withhold information. And he had the upmost confidence you would pull it off.”

“I’d be lying if I said I was over it, but I’m not just going on about the last mission. Miranda,” I stress, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her desk. “Think back on Illium. You didn’t contact your sister, right? And your dad caught wind anyway? He just _happened_ to have hired assholes after her?”

Her face is hardset, not giving anything away.

_Everyone’s got a tell, V._

I stare, not letting up. “Niket said you had your dad bugged all to Hades. I don’t know if that works both ways, but this ship _was_ bugged before. _And_ he donated to Cerberus? Shit doesn’t add up right.”

“He severed ties with Cerberus long ago, Shepard. You’re being paranoid.” Her eyes waver toward the window.

“Am I? If I thought like the Illusive Man, I’d take in cash wherever I could get it. And your father would still be a prime candidate. If they’re all about stretching humanity to its limits, why the _fuck_ wouldn’t they keep working together?”

“I do hope you’re done with your conspiracy theories, Commander.”

“Not yet,” I reply with false cheer. “Think about why you’re here. For my money, there’d be plenty of reasons to station you somewhere else, promote you after this… success,” I gesture to myself. “Why’d they put you on a suicide ship, Miranda?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m here to better the chances of us surviving this mission!” The air around her changes slightly, and imperceptible ripples play at her hands.

_Keep pushing._

“Is that really the only reason?” Anger tinges my words. “You put trust in some funny places, remember?”

Her eyes narrow. “Commander, as always it has been a pleasure speaking with you. If you’ll excuse me, I have reports to finish.” The static in the air dissipates abruptly.

Whatever, it needed to be said. If she’s going to go ice queen on me, then at least I know I hit a nerve. I exit the office and head toward the mess. The place is deserted, save for three new dents on the tables, stray biotic scorch marks on the wall, and an empty Fishdog Food Shack box on the floor.

Christ these kids need something to shoot.

I look down the corridor at the battery door. Damn, I can’t. Not yet. Not when I don’t even _know_ what I’m feeling. Maybe we’re screwed in the head because of proximity. We’ve both been under a lot of stress in a short amount of time. He’s keeping me sane. There’s trust there. But when the hell did trust turn into goosebumps?

_Goosebumps?_ Hell, now _I_ need something to shoot.

I grab two mugs. Coffee for me, and a sour-smelling tea for Mordin. I made Gardner teach me the basics for the more exotic drinks on board, and paired that with the knowledge Chambers had to figure out their go-tos. She had the knack for it that I suspect only came from bartending or worse. Another form of xenopsychology if I’ve ever heard of one. I’ll have to ask her one of these days.

I step into the lab and set the mug beside the humming salarian. There’s a dizzying amount of data in this room, from the experiments toward the back to the holographic feeds in front of him. The latest tissue sample from the Collectors has all his attention. Charts and profiles display beside the ancient Prothean race’s known data.

“Shepard! Many thanks. How can I help?”

“This all looks interesting. What have you found out so far?”

“Made breakthrough on evidence found on Collector ship. Based on Prothean-Collector connection, can examine Reaper technology. Chart modifications. Fall of Protheans,” he says.

I give a small smile. _As fast talking as ever._

 “I’ll bite. What happened?”

“Indoctrination. Captured Protheans lost intelligence, cybernetic augmentation widespread. As Protheans fell, Reapers added tech to create Collectors.”

“Damn. Like the husks,” I mutter, bile creeping up at the thought. “Is it possible to reverse it? Get the Protheans back somehow?”

“No, Shepard. No glands, replaced by tech. No digestive system, replaced by tech. No soul,” he pauses. “Replaced by tech. No art, no culture. What they were, long dead now. Collectors now. Must be destroyed.”

“Mordin, I get what you’re saying but people these days are full of tech, cybernetics and the like. There’s really nothing we can do?” I sound too much like I’m pleading, but I can’t stop myself from asking.

And from the way he’s looking at me through black almond-shaped eyes, he knows what I’m really asking. “No. Not the same. Your tech introduced within socio-technological balance. You _are_ human.”

“Yeah,” I reply, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible.

“Scientific advancement due to intelligence compensating for limitations.” He continues, pacing behind his workstation. “All sapients follow process. All follow model. Without limitations, without advancement, culture stagnates.”

I look at the hologram of what the Protheans once were. The civilization that came before us. The ones that jumpstarted our advancement to the galactic age. Liara was fascinated by their culture, their technology, what they left behind. She’d spent decades studying them. She’d be devastated to hear that this was what became of the Protheans.

“Culture, huh? Didn’t know you were big on something like that,” I remark, snapping back into the conversation.

“Personal interest. Multispecies productions for cultural exploration. Gilbert and Sullivan. Always had me do the patter songs.”

“You’re shitting me.” I grin at him with a cocked brow.

“But not about me,” he rushes on. “Artistic expression reflects philosophical evolution, change in perspective, growth. Won’t see art in Collector base. Culturally dead. Replaced by tech.”

“So they’re just machines. Got it.” I give the holoscreen a final look and unclench my fists that I didn’t realize were clenched.

“Machines can be broken,” he smiles.

“I like the way you think,” I smile back. “So I’ve got another question, unrelated. Do you know what’s going on with Grunt? Anything in your studies that match his behavior?”

“Hmm. Unchecked anger. Lashing out at small provocations. Aggressive posturing not limited to species.” He pauses briefly. “More than stress. Possibly hormones.”

“Seriously?” I deadpan.

“Can’t say for sure, won’t let me study him. Mistrust against salarians. Understandable. Problematic.”

I groan, “Oh well that just figures.” _On the bright side I really_ do _get to go see Wrex._ “I should go. Good talking with you, Mordin.”

“Happy to help.”  


**Garrus**

After a couple of probe and drop missions, we set course for Tuchanka, the depleted radioactive krogan homeworld. Even from the observation deck the place looks inhospitable. The colors are too muted; no lush greens, no healthy deep blues for the oceans. Everything about it is a hard shell of its former glory.

The only people truly excited about the trip are Shepard and Grunt. Grunt, being tank-bred offworld, only heard snippets about Tuchanka, surely. No telling what versions of the planet he’s seen, but he’s in for a world of disappointment.

Shepard is excited for an entirely different reason. She and Wrex resonated with each other, almost as much as she and I did. Back then at least. Both did whatever it took to get the job done, and out of that came respect. Unlike him however, she didn’t solve every problem with a bullet. Just most problems.

In the end, their only problem with each other wasn’t solved with a bullet, but with words. She shouted him down, cursed the circumstances set before us on Virmire, and destroyed the first known cure for the genophage. In the end, she promised him. Whatever was in her power to do, she’d do. And she demanded that he do the same.

So he went back home. He came here.

Wrex and I had a much different relationship. He thought me naïve, and perhaps I was. But who isn’t considered young to a krogan or asari? Working with him got me thinking that maybe not all krogan were the witless mercenaries they made themselves out to be. Wrex had wits. And later, I learned that Grundan Krul had wits too. Cunning aggressive creatures, built for war and combat. Much like turians.

No wonder we went to war with each other.

“We’re in orbit Commander, but I’ll be damned if I’m scratching the paint on that hellhole,” Joker says. “Hope you don’t mind taking the shuttle down there.”

I peer down at the scabrous landscape. I don’t blame him one bit.

In the shuttle bay I see Grunt, Tali, Mordin, and Zaeed suiting up. Shepard is already in full kit, doing test bounces and rolling her shoulders. Mordin’s about the last person I would expect to see on Tuchanka. Hell, any salarian for that matter. But he was STG, and if he’s anything like the slippery officer Kirrahe then he’d survive.

I stride over to Zaeed. “Wanted to see what all the fuss was about?”

“Damn right I do. Can’t say I’ve had the friendliest run-ins with krogans, but this Wrex fellow seems like my kind of guy.”

I grin. “Trust me, you’ll probably like him just fine. I imagine he’s mellowed out a bit since being planetside for so long.”

“Can’t imagine what your idea of mellow is,” he says, jutting his head toward Shepard. “She looks like she’s about to have kittens.”

I watch as she and Grunt converse, and while his turn of phrase is baffling, I can see his intent. She’s radiating excitement, and for the first time the rage behind Grunt’s eyes is gone. I smile softly at the scene, her clapping the young krogan’s shoulders as she chats. She glances over at me, and gives me one of her smiles as she continues talking.

_Damn._ Any regret I had that night is gone now.

We’d “discussed” my drunken babbling briefly the evening after. Very briefly. In classic Shepard fashion, she wielded her words like a bludgeon.

_“Look, you’re a little crazy, I’m a little crazier.” She looks away for a moment, then turns back to me with a grin. “But I’m not going anywhere. And just for you, I’ll try not to die so much.”_

She left the battery after that, leaving me stunned and, well, hopeful. We were good. But what _were_ we?

I turn to Zaeed. “Guess it’s time to take in the local flavor.”

“When I was here last, the only local flavor was ryncol and roasted pyjaks. I’m not counting on any improvements.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tastee Bites are now available with seven different dipping sauces including the famous Tummy-Tickling Tuchanka Sauce. Why seven? Because Rupe Elkoss likes lucky numbers is why.


	20. Krogan Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and crew visit lovely scenic Tuchanka.

**Shepard**

Tuchanka is the type of place anti-war advocates warn about. When nuclear energy was first introduced in humanity’s culture, the first thing we did was weaponize it. Traits like that seem to be another universal trend. The krogans blasted themselves right into and out of the nuclear age in record time. They never had the benefit of a Cold War to stop them from destroying their world. No escalation. Only annihilation.

Centuries later, and no one bothered to clean up after themselves. We descend into one of the bunkers and land in the designated zone for alien visitors. When we disembark, I can already see the tight security detail. Huge lumbering creatures wielding shotguns with ease, all with dirty looks saved for the special occasion. Salarians were hated. Turians were hated. Humans were considered soft, weak. In other words, hated.

“Watch your step, human,” a guard warns. “And get your rutting pet on the Rite or we’ll put him down.”

_Rite?_

“I’d pay to see you try,” I respond. “Just let me by.”

Grunt looks around in obvious dismay. “ _This_ is Tuchanka? The great krogan homeworld? This is the land of the warlords whose blood flow through my veins? This chunk of rock is an insult! Never thought I’d miss the tank.”

“It certainly isn’t… clean,” Tali responds, stepping over chunks of rubble with exaggerated care. “They squandered their homeworld while quarians wander the Traverse. They should be so lucky.”

I roll my eyes but make no reply. When they’re right, they’re right. The place is a dump, but we have business to attend to. We travel deeper into the underground tunnel networks, old throwbacks to the nuclear bunkers set up during their atomic age. Further in, we walk into the “throne room” of Clan Urdnot. More rubble, and atop it, none other than Urdnot Wrex himself.

Even seated, he’s huge. Big sloping hump on his back, a sign of wealth and pride among krogan. A couple of new scars decorate his ruddy plates, but the same three parallel gashes sit across one eye. Every time I see those scars, I feel a little sorry for the other guy.

“Halt! You must wait until the clan leader summons you,” another guard states. “He is in talks.”

Sure enough, he is. I’ve never seen a krogan look more bored. He yawns as another krogan prattles on in an irate tizzy about traditions and sanctions. This guy’s in need of rescuing, bad.

“Well then!” I yell in my bar fight tone of voice. “Guess this lowly human _Spectre_ will just wait patiently over here. With the _rest_ of the Normandy heroes.” I cock a hip to the side and give my best leer to the guard.

He perks up. “Shepard!”

Wrex hoists himself from the makeshift throne, and pushes the speaker aside. I rush to him, pushing aside the guards blocking our way. Krogans don’t exactly hug; an arm grasp, similar to a human-style handshake is about as touchy-feely one could ever get. Wrex gives me that honor with no hesitation.

“Shepard! My friend!” He claps my back roughly. “You look well for dead. Not even the void could hold you back. I would expect nothing less.”

I can’t help but smile with a bit of pride at that. “Appreciate that. But look at you! King of the krogans, holding court? You look good, strong. This suits you.”

“Hah! This isn’t just for me. This is for all krogans. And when I’m done, we will be a united race. Even if it means dragging the other clans kicking and screaming.”

“By abandoning many traditions to get your way,” the other krogan snaps, making his way toward us.

Wrex gives me a baleful look, then rears back and head-butts the krogan. “Speak when spoken to, Gatatog Uvenk.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. I smirk as Uvenk nurses his headplate. “You’ve got big changes in store?”

“Yes. Neutral territories where all clans are welcome. Redouble our breeding efforts. Fertile females will be shared among clans, to strengthen the race as a whole. Each clan punishes its own criminals instead of outright blood wars, and we stop conflicts before anyone dies.”

“That sounds… reasonable, actually. Not at all like what you’ve told me about krogan before.”

“Not all the old ways have been abandoned. Just the ones that don’t work. Allies to my clan like what I’m doing. Anytime a clan has violated the new ways, my allies have destroyed them.” He seats himself back on his throne with a heavy sigh.

“And you share your women? What do they think of that?”

He looks at me sadly. “We have to, Shepard. The neutral ground was their idea,” he continues gruffly. “It allows us to establish breeding contracts in safety. A fertile female is a clan’s most valuable asset. They know it. We know it. The females formed their own clan to protect themselves and consolidate their value. They’ve made peace possible, and looked out for Clan Urdnot. Even those who want me dead wouldn’t dare cross the females.”

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, then.” I glance around the room, and beckon Grunt over. The rest of the squad follow suit. “Normally, this is where I’d ask you to join me back on my ship, but I think uniting your people might be almost as important as my mission,” I say with a wink.

“Hah!” A fond glimmer appears in his eyes as he stares off to the distance. “It would be like old times. Killing things with big guns. A strong ship and a stronger crew.” He looks back at me with a small shrug. “But you are correct. For now, my place is here.”

“Well for now, can you tell me what’s wrong with this guy?” I jut a thumb back. “He’s been a little… touchy.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Tali mutters. “I call it destroying a di– Ow!”

I jerk my head back to see an all-too-innocent turian and mollified Tali.

 _My_ kingdom _for something to shoot at._

Wrex leans forward and stares hard at Grunt. The same unnerving look he gave me when he first joined my crew. “Where are you from, whelp? Was your clan destroyed before you learned your place?”

“I have no clan,” Grunt responds. “I was bred by Warlord Okeer, my line distilled from Kredek, Moro, Shiagur.”

“Don’t recite those names, you mutant!” Uvenk interjects. “You’re nothing but the offspring of a syringe.”

“Okeer, hmm?” Wrex says slowly, glaring at Uvenk. “Didn’t know he was still around.”

“Okeer is dead,” Grunt responds.

“Well, you’re with Shepard. Makes me wonder if a bomb was involved.”

“Hey!” I start. I hear Tali giggle beside me. “Not the point. Who was he to you, anyway?”

“Nothing to me personally. The warlord fancied himself a scientist. Took cues from salarians, apparently,” he adds, shooting a hard look at Grunt and Mordin. “But a clone undertaking the Rite…?”

“You dare consider it?” Uvenk shouts. “A tank-bred given status as a clan member? This is too far!”

“He’s fine,” Wrex says, ignoring the krogan’s outburst. “He’s becoming an adult.”

“Hypothesis correct. Hormones,” Mordin replies.

“Really, Wrex?” Garrus says. “Let’s just settle him down in a dance club and be done with it.”

“Garrus, it’s been too long. Good to see the one turian that thinks he’s funny.” Wrex’s eyes rake over him, scrutinizing every new detail like a trained hunter. “Good fights I see,” he nods.

“Wouldn’t put it that way,” Garrus responds, folding his arms. “But I’m glad you approve.”

“I don’t care what you aliens call it or what you do. True krogans undergo the Rite of Passage.”

“And he is no true krogan!” Uvenk storms out of the room.

“Idiot,” Wrex sighs. He stands and circles around Grunt, nodding slowly. “So, Grunt. Do you wish to stand with Urdnot?”

I blink. “So you’d let him?”

“You vouch for this whelp, Shepard. Clan Urdnot is strong and will do as I say. He need only prove himself worthy of the name.”

I turn to Grunt. “The opportunity is yours, but only if you want it. I know little of krogans, only their strength,” I say, using the formal cadence of an outsider. “None match the strength of Urdnot Wrex. I am proud to name him friend and ally. Only you can choose to follow him.”

Grunt nods at me, then turns away. He looks at the jagged wastes further along the corridor, at the various krogans scattered among the rocky terrain. Then he looks at me, then at Wrex.

“It is in my blood. It is what I am for.”

Wrex grumbles in approval. “Speak with our shaman. Show him what you’re made of, and he’ll set you on the path.” He gives me a deep nod, a krogan equivalent of a wink. “You too, Shepard. It’s past time you earn your keep.”

“I had a feeling it might go that way. Can’t give me any warning on what the Rite entails, can you?”

“Not a chance,” he says, showing all his teeth. “Hunt well, Shepard.”  


**Garrus**

By the time Grunt, Shepard and I reach the shaman, he’s already engaged in a shouting match with Uvenk. Apparently the idiot thinks that the Rite, whatever it is won’t be fit for a tank-bred.

I whisper to Shepard, “This guy’s Rite involved counting to four the hard way.”

She snickers under her breath. “You never know,” she whispers back. “Somebody might have made a killing off him. Didn’t you say a quad could go for four thousand credits?”

“Forty-thousand.”

“That’s a rip-off.”

“That _is_ part of the process.”

“He doesn’t even have a krantt to speak of!” Uvenk continues. “If he can’t inspire anyone to fight for him, then he’s better off dead in the wastes!”

“We fight with him and for him. Our arm is his,” Shepard announces. “Name our target, and you’ll find a smoldering mass.”

“Good,” the shaman grumbles. “At least someone here has a quad,” he finishes, sneering at the green-tinged krogan.

“See?” I say in a hushed tone. “Not the only one.” She elbows me, but smirks back.

“–Piling insult upon insult. A test-tube whelp, followed by a soft-bellied human and a pet turian. Enemies to our ways! If you– Oof!”

A swift movement. A dull smack.

_Ah hell._

Shepard rubs her neck and shakes off the impact. Cold anger replaces any amusement in her eyes. Uvenk stares at her in shock, rubbing his headplate ruefully.

“You… dare!?”

“Hah! I like this one!” The shaman declares. “Prepare yourselves for the Rite. This will test your strength, cunning, and endurance. Gather your wits, your weapons and your love of the battle. We travel to the surface before first light.”

**~*~**

The ruinous cityscape would sober even the most hardened turian. It reminds me too much of classroom vids of the Krogan Rebellions. Entire colonies seen through a haze of dust and smoke, tinged with a sharp radioactive glare. Except that none of _our_ planets look this depleted. And despite the horrific conditions, Grunt practically hums with excitement. He stares out the window taking in all the sights like a child with his first set of teeth.

Shepard’s unusually quiet, especially since head-butting Uvenk. I’d be lying if I knew the exact reasons, but if my hunch is correct, it isn’t something to discuss in front of the krogan. She looks across at Grunt with a fierce determination, and I feel her grasp my hand. I squeeze back, not exactly looking at her, but out of the corner of my eye I see a hint of a smile. Her smile and hand are gone the next instant as the transport stops.

We pile out into what looks like the tunnel of an old stadium. Given the look of the architecture, the surroundings are certainly old, but there’s a salarian look about some of the pillars. Leftover influence from the original uplift, perhaps. The damage to the area is immense as well as the erosion. However much of that is due to decades of fallout exposure versus normal krogan animosity is anyone’s guess.

“This was once Tuchanka’s gathering place for warriors and civilians alike,” the shaman starts. “In the last throes of the rebellions, blood of our enemies flowed like the rivers of Kruban. The keystone was at the heart of the city. It endures, like all worthy krogan.”

We ascend the crumbled staircase to the surface of the arena. The harsh light from the sun peaks over the horizon, adding intense heat to the radioactive mix.

“Rise to the challenges of Clan Urdnot. Contemplate the keystone and conquer its trials under the ever watchful Aralakh. Adapt as any true krogan would. Hunt well.” The shaman departs, leaving us in the arena.

We scan our surroundings. There are pillars scattered about, destroyed seating, and remains of various krogan and fauna. But nothing that would pass for a keystone.

“Is anyone else as confused as I am?” I wonder aloud.

“Yeah. Grunt, is there anything rattling in that brain that tells you what we’re looking for?”

The krogan shakes his head. “No. Only old grudges and hatred. Nothing of this. Shepard,” he hesitates. “What if I fail? What if there’s nothing here?”

She shrugs. “We’re not gonna fail. Remember that strong crew business? That still applies, especially here.” She begins to pace around the perimeter. “Besides, Wrex vouches for you. If he thinks you can handle the Rite, whatever it is, then I’d trust that. Hey Garrus, see what’s in that middle part over there.”

I head over to the center of the arena. There’s a seam in the metal and stone flooring, as though the section could open. A likely guess would be another bunker entrance, but this one has an odd inscription with a stylized sun in the center.

“Shepard, I think I found something. Take a look at this.”

She heads over and inspects it. “Huh, would you look at that? Can barely make out the words. Translates to ‘Warrior’s sun will guide me something something.’ Some kind of phrase? Hey Grunt, come check this out!”

He lumbers over. “Some of it is faded,” he announces plainly. “But it’s something Okeer bore into me. ‘The warrior’s sun will guide me to the new dawn.’ The words were always overlaid with dragging rachni entrails through the streets.”

“Yuck.” She shudders. “Well, it sounds abstract as hell, but everything else we know has been pretty straightforward. Come out to a dangerous part of the planet, bring weapons, and try not to die.” Shepard gestures to the seam in the ground. “Maybe we need to get this guy open.”

I grin at her. “I don’t suppose you want to try it by force?”

She shakes her head. “Not out here. Radiation can do some buggy shit.”

“The warrior’s sun will guide me,” Grunt mutters. He looks across at the hot sun blazing a path in the sky, then at the stylized form on the ground. Without further hesitation, he pulls out his shotgun and shoots the icon.

“Whoa!” Shepard shouts. “What the fuck?”

“I don’t like puzzles. And it’s hot outside.”

_Radiation does ‘buggy shit’ alright._

“Oh for the love of…wait.” She looks around warily. “You guys hear that?”

“Varren,” I reply. “Twelve of them. We should be able to finish them off before they get into range.”

Grunt charges after them.

I frown. “Or we can just go run in the fray full tilt without a care in the world.” I shoulder my sniper rifle and reach for my Vindicator.

Shepard pulls out a matching gun. “Where’d you pick up ‘full tilt?’ That’s old human slang.”

“Worry about it later, let’s just kill these damn things.”

She mutters something my translator can’t cipher, then charges ahead to join the krogan.

Well if the new plan of action is tangling with a bunch of fishdogs, who am I to judge? I run in behind them.

**~*~**

This place is an uninhabitable hellhole, and that’s being charitable. We’ve only been out here for two and a half hours and we’re already through a quarter of our water reserves. To preserve energy, Shepard’s been laying off the biotics, and more than a few times we’ve resorted to blunt trauma and tech.

The varren we could handle. It was when the klixen came in that it became nasty business. By that point the radiation started to do ‘buggy shit’ to Shepard’s tech armor, and had a tendency to detonate even before she overclocked. Being the practical sort, she ran right for the targets to explode like a human IED. That meant keeping a wide berth.

Grunt on the other hand was as happy as a kid on their naming day. Fitting, I guess. As the only one truly in their element, he was all over the battleground with reckless abandon. No thought or worry about endurance, water rationing, or the like, just the love of battle. One of the benefits of redundant organs.

For me it was just another bout of mindless trigger pulling. Just enough going on to keep me in the fight, but not nearly enough to pull me out of my own head. Maybe I could have sat this one out. At the time the excuse to join in on the action certainly seemed plausible enough. The surface had radiation damage, and we were the best people fit to survive if the worst came.

But she asked. How could I say no?

We manage to dispatch the remaining klixen. I sigh and lean on a pillar. In the distance I can see a dust storm rolling in, the wind swaying old signs along the defunct roadway. Shepard paces near me, rolling her shoulder as she looks around, still anxious from the heat of battle. I notice Grunt taking a klixen corpse to task. _Is he...? Ugh._

Shepard follows my gaze. “Gotta get the teeth. Tradition, y’know?” she says. “Man, what I would do for a hot pastrami sandwich right about now.”

“You sound like Grunt. I’ll never get how you can be so hungry after a firefight. Or seeing _that._ ” I point.

“Hierarchy of needs,” she says, tapping the back of her head. “But if I don’t ever see a fire crab again, it’ll still be too soon. The little bastards are tough.”

“They’re fast, I’ll give them that,” I reply. “But if we kept our distance like I said–” A tremor rattles my armor. “Did you… feel that?”

The worry in her voice is plain as day when she responds, “I did.” She quickly scans the area. “No turrets. Shit!”

I look uneasily at the terrain. _That wasn’t a dust storm_. “Maybe it won’t surface.”

The ground below quakes and rumbles. Ancient structures past the arena groan like a metallic dirge. I draw my gun. “Or not.”

The krogan emits a low rumbling laugh. “Finally something big to kill.”  


**Shepard**

Thresher maws. The type of creature that confirmed all the horrors humanity could imagine. Perhaps the vilest export of the Krogan DMZ, the giant space worms managed to infest several planets in the galaxy. One of which was Akuze.

When I was stationed in Rio de Janeiro, me and my N-school mates would frequent this extranet site “Honest Military Tactics.” It was always good for a laugh; Alliance procedure for off-world skirmishes paired with actual footage of improvised strategies.

There was never one about thresher maws.

Later on some of those buddies were killed, reduced to a statistic. Later still, Corporal Toombs revealed Cerberus’s role in the attack. I hated the beasts. I wasn’t there; was transferred to a new squad just the week before. Could I have saved them from the attack, had I been there? Maybe, maybe not. But I did know that any encounter I had with a thresher maw, I’d be prepared.

Now all I need is a damn Mako.

“Listen up!” I shout, gripping my Vindicator. “This thing hasn’t surfaced yet, but stay sharp. We’re going at this a little more naked than I’d like, so we need to work with what we brought.”

“What does naked have to do–”

“Not the _point_ , Vakarian! That Collector beam, you guys and my biotics _might_ be enough to kill it.”

Another deep rumble, closer to us.

“It’s going to surface!”

The ground cracks open, and a tangle of carapace and antennae emerges. They don’t make a sound, and they don’t need to. The size is warning enough.

“Get to cover!”

The bastard thrashes and sways blindly. They can’t see for shit, can only smell and feel. What they lack they make up for with projectile acid. Best to keep away.

“Grunt. On my mark, take that beam gun and fire straight for the mouth. Garrus, do what you do best.”

They nod. The ground rumbles again. I count.

Nothing yet. _Wait…_

On six, the maw resurfaces on the other side of the arena.

“Now!”

I launch biotic spheres at the beast as a white-hot beam crackles beside me. The worm rears back against the volley.

It spits.

A wash of acid spews out. I roll away, but some of the deluge catches my leg. Just the armor, but the acid is having a field day. We gotta finish soon.

“Ha ha ha! More!”

 _Fucking krogans._ I look behind me. The big guy is half-covered in acid, armor forming divots and holes.

“Grunt get to cover!”

“There is no cover!” The turian yells over the comm. “It destroyed it all.”

_Oh boy._

“Well keep shooting!”

The maw retreats back underground. I fall behind some rubble. Heat emanates from my leg, but there’s no pain, not yet. I take a deep breath and try to concentrate on the vibrations in the ground.

_There!_

“Grunt, it’s going to come up on your six. Be ready with that beam again and watch the damn acid.”

I summon as much energy as I can. _Hope this works_.

The ground breaks. I launch a biotic field just as it emerges. Too far to hit instantly. As the maw sways, scenting the air, I throw another volley and beg to God for speed. The jaws spread.

“Now!”

The beam lands. My first blast connects, and spreads across the maw like a virus. I shoot another round of orbs, then fire my Vindicator.

The spheres connect. The light show from the attack is mesmerizing, and for a moment I stand there transfixed. It’s just so goddamn _bright_. The maw rears back. It’s not falling.

Oh fuck, it’s not falling.

“That thing’s still _alive_!?” Garrus shouts.

I roll from the acid wave, leg starting to burn under the melting armor. “Almost! Keep at it!” I shout. I aim another attack at the maw and follow up with another round of biotic projectiles. Weaker this time. _Shit._

Garrus picks up the slack with relentless bullets. Grunt yells out, and shotgun reports replace the beam. If we can get that bastard down before he burrows again…

I fire off more shots at the maw, and watch as it sways. Slower this time. It rears back.

Acid spews forth, but doesn’t go more than a few yards in front of it. We empty our clips at it, and the beast keels over with a satisfying thud.

_Holy shit we did it._

I turn to the squad, arms outstretched. “Shit! We did it!” I drop my arms as they get closer. “Injuries?”

“New scars to wear with pride,” Grunt replies.

“That’s certainly one way to put it. Nothing major, Shepard.”

I point at the corpse. “There’s some real teeth to bring back, eh? What do you say we grab some and figure out a way out of here?”

Just then I hear shuffling steps behind us. We turn to see the same green-tinged krogan from earlier walking through the arena with his own squad.

“Well done, tank-bred. Now that you have shown your strength, I have a proposal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you chance upon an asari wearing teeth or bone jewelry, chances are they are either a daughter or bondmate of a krogan. In ancient times they were offerings to the clan after undergoing the Rite, but now they're turned into trinkets to be sold off-world. It's still tradition to keep at least one trophy as a good luck charm.


	21. Intergalactic Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus run through a string of cultural exchanges on Tuchanka.

**Garrus**

The same green loudmouth from earlier, the one so adamantly against Grunt performing the Rite, all of a sudden able to see the big picture. Nobody ever seems to appreciate anything until it benefits them.

“No one has brought down a thresher maw in generations.” Uvenk stares us down from his vantage point above us. I look around. Four total, all with shotguns. And with us out in the open.

This day just keeps getting better and better.

Grunt scoffs and points at the old warlord. “My krantt gave me strength.”

 “Uvenk, state your purpose. We were kinda in the middle of something here, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Shepard shifts her weight, and I glance down to see a growing hole in her armor.

_Try not to die, she says. Really gonna need a little more effort, Shepard._

“You are a mistake, but your potential could tip our balance of power.” The krogan paces as his guards take battle stances. “If you call yourself a krogan, then I propose Clan Gatatog, with restrictions. You would have no breeding rights, of course. And no more serving on an alien ship. But you would be clan in name, and bring honor to our army.”

“That offer is insulting,” Grunt declares.

“You heard the man, quad-less. He doesn’t want your deal.” Shepard gives Grunt a small grin that transforms into an outright leer at the warlord.

He sneers. “You insult me for the last time, human. I’ll have your head on a pike!”

“Try to take it!” Grunt reaches for his gun, Shepard following suit. True diplomats over here.

“Really?” I say to Shepard. “Didn’t we _just_ kill a thresher maw? Why do they think we’re going to go easy on them?”

She snaps in a heat sink. “Damned if I know, but it looks like we’re about to kill a clan leader. I really hope Wrex doesn’t mind.”

Krogans are notoriously hard to kill. There’s very few sensitive or exposed areas, even without hard suits, and they’ve got redundant organs and high regeneration. Get more than a couple in a fight, and you’re in for a world of pain unless you’ve had practice.

Unfortunately for them, Shepard and I practiced for years. But at least the poor bastards died fighting.

“C’mon,” Shepard says, pocketing a credit chit from the leader. “I say we take their transport and go back the way we came. No use sticking around, especially if another clan starts feeling froggy.”

**~*~**

“Shepard, Shepard, Shepard,” Wrex grumbles. “Couldn’t help yourself, hmm? First you kill a maw, now this whelp’s getting breeding requests. You too. Guess that’s what it takes to replace me.”

“Aww, no one can replace your sunny disposition,” I say.

He chuckles and beckons to the young krogan. “Grunt, step forward. From this day on, you are Urdnot Grunt. Welcome.” He turns to me and Shepard. “There’s to be a celebration. As his krantt, I would expect you to be there, but I know you wouldn’t miss it.”

“Definitely,” Shepard says. “But uh…are you sure the whole ‘destruction of Clan Gatatog’ thing is ok?”

“They attacked you on sacred ground. I was itching for a reason to get rid of him, and you offered a way to do it. Just like old times,” he says, letting out a rumbling laugh.

She frowns. “I’m not just some hired gun to clean up the world’s messes. And I wouldn’t have thought that you’d be keen to political maneuvers like that.”

“I’m not.” He gives her an amused stare. “That’s why I’m glad he’s dead. We’re the dominant clan, Shepard. But don’t think for a second that it’ll stay that way forever. Not without a fight. We’re not like you turians, or salarians or that pyjak you call Udina. Soft,” he spits. “Too much talking, and for what?”

“For things to stay exactly the same or worse,” I answer bitterly. “I imagine that now he’s gone, you’ll have a little less resistance.”

“That and more. Our newest edition will make us proud,” Wrex replies, giving Grunt an appraising look. “You chose Shepard as your battlemaster. She leads well, good as any krogan I know. Come with me. You should meet the rest.”

He turns back to us. “You and your crew are welcome here, Shepard. But watch yourself. Tuchanka isn’t safe and homey like Feros and Ilos.” He laughs at that, and leaves the area with Grunt following suit.

He would label the places that had a mind-controlling plant and more geth than the Outer Rim as safe and homey. And I thought my jokes were bad.

“So…” Shepard starts, bouncing on her feet. “I dunno about you, but this radiation is murder, and I need to swap gear. Watch over these guys while I’m gone. I know Wrex has got our backs, but it’s _Tuchanka_. No telling on this rock.”

“Still trying to rope me into your dirty work, I see.” I glance around at the compound. “Fine, but if anything happens, you get the honor of dealing with it.”

“Deal.” Her eyes soften. “Garrus, one of these days you’ll get back to trusting yourself as much as I trust you. Ping if you need anything.”

She departs. Sometimes I wish she’d stop saying things like that. Any reasonable commanding officer would know better than to try to promote someone who wasn’t ready for it, or worse yet, proved they weren’t. Stalwart faith like that had no place in the Hierarchy.

I make my way through the Urdnot compound, aware of the looks ranging from curious to hostile. It was one thing to have Wrex and Shepard around, but now? Hopefully being part of the krantt that slayed a thresher maw will keep things from escalating beyond curiosity. The rest of the crew I wasn’t as sure about.

Checking on Mordin suddenly seemed like a good idea.

The salarian doctor was likely the most hated here, and that’s without the krogans knowing a thing about him. The genophage was already grim business, and to this day the action is hotly debated. At the time it was seen as the only choice, and turians were taught early on that the galaxy was better off. But to know Mordin had a hand in the bio-weapon, just as Wrex was trying to right those mistakes was unsettling. He certainly had guts for coming here.

I find Mordin near one of the camp scouts. He appears engrossed in watching the krogan kill off pyjaks with a mounted cannon. A waste of firepower for sure, but it’s a bit of a marvel. If they can get that kind of pinpoint accuracy, then imagine the devastation they could accomplish on a target that mattered.

“Impressive to see life adapt,” Mordin says as I walk up. “Continue to live, thrive, despite circumstances. Inspiring.”

“Not that I share Shepard’s fascination with the krogan, but didn’t your people create the genophage? That’s part of the circumstances they’re facing now.”

“Yes. We created it. Modified it. Originally had no intent to use it. Your people thought otherwise. Most viable option in the end.”

“And now here we are, right in enemy territory and still alive.” I look over at a group of Blood Pack krogans lumbering by. Alive, but for how long?

“Indeed. Often find myself in enemy territory. No different from Omega. Many fought against our efforts. Still alive. We still did good work,” he says, giving me a steady look.

I avert my eyes. “I try not to think about that place. But now that you mention it, I think you patched up some of my men more than once.”

“Sensat, I believe.” He taps a finger to his head as his eyes brighten. “Suspected he was teammate. Could never prove for certain. Good with guns, explosions, former STG. Stubborn.”

The salarian in my squad would only go to one clinic on Omega whenever he got injured. I’d never met Mordin personally, but his reputation was known in all the districts. He was skilled enough to cure a plague, but could kill just as quickly. Even the Blue Suns learned to steer clear.

I cock my head at him. “I never understood why you were out there. What was a brilliant scientist doing on that pisshole?”

“Wanted to heal people. After work on,” he coughs, “project, needed something with less moral ramifications. Work more clear. Healing people, Collector work, clear. Omega most in need of help. Assume you would agree.” He blinks at me expectantly.

A year ago he’d be right. “I don’t think anything I did there made a dent,” I mumble.

“Turian ‘total war’ mentality. Consider instead this.” He holds out his hands in a weighing gesture. “One less merc, more civilians safer. Shepard killed Blue Suns, saved assistant. Assistant now runs clinic, saves dozens. Or gets killed trying. Either way.” The salarian smiles. “Can never change world. Can change parts. Do what we can.”

 “The little pyjak calls himself Maleon.” One of the Blood Pack mercs lets out a harsh laugh. “Sounds like a girl’s name if you ask me.”

Mordin’s eyes widen and his hands drop. “No. Couldn’t be.”

I start to ask him what’s wrong, but he quiets me.

“–Running experiments at the hospital. Once we’re done with him, Clan Weyrloc will return to its former glory.”

“Must investigate,” he whispers. “Maleon name of former protégé. Salarian name either way. Could be held against will. Needs rescuing.” Mordin looks toward where the Blood Pack scouts are walking. “Should go now. Coming?”

“This qualifies as a bad idea,” I drawl. “We’re only really safe in Clan Urdnot territory. Anywhere else, we’re a target.”

“Was target on Omega. This is no different. Could use the help.”

I look in the direction of the Blood Pack, then back at the suddenly distraught salarian. And blame it on mentioning Sensat, but I don’t want…

_Not again._

“No we wait,” I say firmly. “Let’s do some recon first, and I’ll contact Shepard.” I sigh. “Besides, the party’s the best time to slip away unnoticed.”  


**Shepard**

I take the shuttle back down to Tuchanka with a fresh set of armor and a new acid scar on my leg. The latter has me on edge; I don’t like limping around in a place where strength is paramount. It doesn’t help that I’m getting leers from some of the krogan that remind me too much of my first year of basic training. EDI informed me that I received two more breeding requests. As if I need another joke about krogan blood.

I make my way down to the Clan Urdnot compound, but don’t see anyone from my crew. The sound of drums and boisterous krogans fill the cramped quarters. The air is thick with the elevated heat, and I smell nothing but alcohol and the smoky scent of roasted maw.

I hear smashed glass, followed by a guttural yell. Grunt. The man of the hour, living it up like any true krogan. He seems happy, and the others are in the throes of either a game, a tradition, or a liability. I walk further in and size up the room. Zaeed’s by the varren pits with a group of krogan, clearly drunk and in a story-telling stance. Tali and Wrex are off in a corner, her arms waving excitedly while he laughs.

Odd. No sign of Garrus or Mordin.

I make my way over to Tali and Wrex, passing through a throng of betting Urdnots. She’s still in the middle of her story when I approach.

“Shepard! You came for Grunt’s party! I was just telling Wrex about the ship. It’s about the only thing nice that Cerberus has done.”

“Hey, don’t you think you’re forgetting something?” I drag over an old radiator and sit beside them.

“They may have patched you up. A little,” she teases, squinching her fingers at me. “Wrex, are you sure you don’t want to at least see it? You can lurk around in the cargo bay like old times.”

“It was comfortable down there. Besides, I liked making the turian nervous,” Wrex says with a low rumbling laugh.

“Oh Christ,” I groan. “I knew it. Here I am, doing my part to promote intergalactic relationships, and you were down there the entire time terrorizing the youngsters. Wrex,” I say in mock-anger, giving him a stern look. “Such actions are unforgivable.”

Tali giggles and shakes her head vehemently. “Shepard, please. Your idea of intergalactic relationships was trying to tag the most geth. Which you were behind, last I counted.”

“I was only behind because you were cheating with your combat drone. That’s practically two against one.”

“Excuses, excuses. Nothing beats a shotgun, except maybe biotics.” Wrex holds up a glowing fist for emphasis. “None of this fancy tech you two fuss over.”

“Both come in handy,” I grin at Wrex and hold up a glowing fist of my own. “But for my money, why not have it all?”

The din raises in pitch as more krogans join in on the drumming platform. A few have taken up stylized sticks, ancient and crude, and teach Grunt how to wield them. He learns how to leg sweep, and raucous laughter echoes through the compound.

“So Shepard,” Tali says. “What’s with the varren following you around?”

I look beside me. Sure enough, it’s a little fishdog, the same one that was hanging around the fighting pits. For all the ones I shot this one seems a bit friendly. And cute I guess? The scaly thing paces around us before settling on a spot near the radiator.

“Get a load of me. I can charm a varren.” I look at Wrex incredulously. “What the hell do you even feed them, anyway?”

“Pyjaks mostly, but they’ll eat just about anything. Krogan if you’re not careful. Some of the water snakes.” He grins at me, which always looks like an attack waiting to happen. “A varren’s a good fit for you, Shepard. Just as vicious.”

I roll my eyes.

“Shepard, I hope you’re not considering keeping him,” Tali says. “It’s… well, you don’t know where it’s been. And where would you even keep it? And don’t _your_ people eat them?” She points at Wrex. “There’s a whole restaurant chain named after them!”

Wrex chuckles as Tali works herself into a fit. I look around, idly feeding scraps at the varren. Some things are definitely still like old times. I’m glad that no matter how many light-years separated them, Tali could still spout off a tirade at me and Wrex while he laughed. From the first day we met she gave Wrex an earful, pissed that he was working for the Shadow Broker. He laughed in that same low grumbling way until I stepped in and explained the situation.

“Tali, I’m not going to adopt a varren. Yet,” I grin. “But after the mission and this guy’s still around? Maybe.”

I get a ping.

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

_Meet me over by the pile of rubble near the varren pit. The larger pile of rubble._

_GV_

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

 “Huh,” I breath, glancing around the area. “I should go.”

“Something wrong?” Tali asks.

“No more than usual.” I stop for a second, and smile back at Tali. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You have fun.”

I squeeze through another crowd until I reach the varren pit. I spot the turian. Between his C-SEC stance and the nigh-constant scowling, Garrus managed to carve out a wide berth among the crowd. He eyes me, relief flickering across his face.

“Shepard,” he starts. “Sorry I couldn’t say more. Didn’t think it would be safe. It’s about Mordin.” He tilts his head imperceptibly, and I steal a glance in the same direction. Two krogans with different clan marks are conversing, wearing unmarked mercenary armor.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss. “Did he get dragged off by some damn wannabe Blood Pack?”

“Shh! Spirits, no! We’re smarter than that.” Garrus glances around. “We can’t talk about it here, but we ah, secured some transportation and did a little recon. I can tell you about it on the way.”

“Wait, what?” I splutter. “On the way where? What recon?”

“Quiet! We overheard something that set him off. He needs our help,” Garrus says, looking deep in my eyes, pleading with me.

I glare hard at him, and take a deep breath. “Ok.” I exhale. “Ok. But I need the full story.”

**~*~**

The full story was more than I bargained for. What was supposed to be a simple rescue mission turned into something worse. Maelon, Mordin’s protégé during the covert drops on Tuchanka, managed to simultaneously grow a conscience and lose all moral scruples. He was trying to find a cure, and butchered his way to results.

It wasn’t a matter of Mordin’s work on the genophage, or even the scarred, tumor-filled humans, the test subjects for this abomination. It wasn’t the Wreylok females, dead from internal bleeding, obvious volunteers. It wasn’t even Mordin’s apprentice bleeding moss-green over the console, over his salvation.

It was seeing all these wounds as a whole, laid bare over the wasteland.

Whatever excuse Mordin has now, I don’t want to hear. He helped cause this. Pyres of stillborns, infertile women retreating to the wastes, the clones, the experiments… The deaths. This is what ‘population stability’ really looks like.

“This has to fucking stop,” I mutter, eyes stinging. I look up at the ceiling and gather myself. “Mordin, grab every bit of research off that console you can. Moral high ground or not, those lives will not be wasted. You owe them that.”

“Methods were unethical,” he protests.

“Yeah? So were the ones that made Grunt. And the ones that brought me back, and damn near every human biotic out there. Fuck ethics, ‘cause we’re well past that talk. Don’t,” I glare at Garrus as he tries to approach me. “Just… just whatever you gotta say, let it rest a bit, alright? And what the fuck am I going to say to _Wrex_ about this? Another fucking clan gone in the middle of a goddamn bar mitzvah…”

Garrus looks at me quizzically. “A bar whats-vah?”

“Mitzvah, mitzvah, like a coming of age party?” I throw up an arm in frustration. “Become a man, break some shit, speech about making your father proud. Fuck it, it’s not the point.” I barely miss Garrus giving me a hard look, and I glance over at Mordin working the console. “We have to get out of here soon. No one really mourns Blood Pack, but we’ve already upset the balance of power once today.”

It’s well into the night cycle by the time we get back to the Urdnot compound. The party is still in full swing, though I see a lot more krogan passed out along the corridors. I spot Wrex speaking with Grunt and head over.

“Grunt. Wrex. I assume everything’s going well?”

“Shepard,” Wrex nods. “Heard an interesting rumor from a scout that just came back.”

_Here we go._

“Listen Wrex,” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Dunno what that guy had to say, but when I found him the poor thing was delirious. Most of what he was saying was probably suspect.”

Wrex gives me a steady look. “Seems another clan was getting in over their head. It happens from time to time. A clan will try to work out a cure. Another gimmick tested. Always in failure.” He strides past, back turned toward me, overlooking the throng of celebrating warriors. “Always in failure.”

I shift my weight. Maleon’s data was deemed sound, however gruesome, to the man that helped modify the genophage. Before he died, the young salarian said that Wrex wouldn’t approve his methods, and mistrusted anyone who could. How would he feel now, knowing that the data might help?

Though without the threat of extinction, could the krogans unite under one leader? Could anyone? They follow Wrex because he’s strong, but if Wrelock had succeeded, what then? If Okeer had his way, what then?

“It might be for the best,” I hear myself say. “The rumor I heard was that a lot of good humans and krogans were slaughtered with not enough to show for it.”

“Mmm. That so?” Wrex turns slightly. “Then you’ve heard the one where the leader in charge of that project was a pain in my ass. Urdnot has taken in the remaining members. They fight for us now.”

_He knew?_ I didn’t want to test my luck on how much he already figured out. And from the sound of it, Wrex didn’t want to catch me in any omissions either. I look at him, feeling a sense of regret and sadness, and not for the first time wishing for the simpler days of chasing down rogue Spectres.

He looks back at me with the same tense resignation he wore years ago. On that beach where we faced off, neither knowing if words would be enough. His rage. My resolve. “We’re a proud race, Shepard,” he says, echoing the words he said when he left the Normandy. “We will endure. We always will.”

“Yeah,” I respond. “You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not counting Haestrom, current geth count (Colossus-class counts as 3, Mako kills omitted):
> 
> Tali: 164  
> Garrus: 160  
> Shepard: 156  
> Wrex: 121  
> Kaidan: 113  
> Liara: 95  
> Ashley: 56


	22. Volley and Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard visits Liara again.

**Shepard**

I check and double check the message on the console. It has to be another trap, another long con to lure me into certain death. Or worse, complacency until the next trap reveals itself. Cerberus to the rescue, with the perfect intel to take down the Shadow Broker. The message implicates Liara working with the Shadow Broker to recover my body. But leave it to the Project Lazerus terrorists to avoid saying how Cerberus got involved in this mess.

I can see what they’re doing, trying to do, anyway. Cerberus wants me to turn against my old crew and keep them away from me. It worked on Kaidan. Almost worked on Tali. Liara gave me the busy excuses on Illium, but after seeing this message, busy with what? Our Nos Astra reunion got me pretty damn pissed at first, and I kept seeing shit I didn’t like. Her wracked with guilt about me. Fury rivaling her mother’s, against a target _no one_ should take lightly. How much of that was Cerberus’s doing? What fucking _happened_?

 _“You’ll kill me,”_ she said.

Time to find out why.

I set course for Illium and make rounds chatting with the crew. Since the Collector ship mission, everyone on board realizes the stakes we’re up against. They talk about bucket lists and memories. Consoles show loved ones’ faces more often. They realize this might be a one-way trip.

Mordin and Grunt are in better spirits at least, though they show it in bizarre new ways. The scientist works with a frantic energy, probing for countermeasures, bio-enhancements, and weapons. He hums show tunes, lets his guard down in conversation, and even tells the occasional joke when telling me old STG stories. EDI, either through her own humor or weird robotic helpfulness plays mad scientist soundtracks in the lab. And he just laughs.

Grunt meanwhile terrorizes the training equipment down in the hold. I watch him from the engineering deck out of admiration. He’s sharp, strong, and agile. Have to give him that, but then again, we’re still talking about the perfect krogan. When he comes back up, we talk for over an hour about life in the tank versus the old Tuchanka stories told by “real krogans.” He swears that Okeer got it wrong, that the thrill of battle should be motivation enough to fight.

We land in Nos Astra, and I head to Liara’s office. As I march on, I feel more and more jaded. Somewhere between the constant gunfights and snobby money-grubbing residents, the city lost its appeal. The damn turian was right all along, but I can never tell him that. I pass by the empty secretary desk and step inside. Liara looks up and smiles through tired features.

“Shepard! It’s good to see you again.”

“Hey yourself. I’ve got something you might be interested in.” I flip a datapad at her and sit across the massive desk.

She catches it with a biotic field and shoots me an annoyed look. “Try to be more careful, Shepard.” She reads through the data, eyes wider as she progresses. “Shepard, this data–”

“Is key to getting to the Shadow Broker’s base. Yeah, figured it might help. What I want to know is why the Shadow Broker wanted my body and how Cerberus got it instead.” I lean forward on the desk. “This intel looks bad. I need you to fill in the blanks.”

She looks down, face growing solemn. “I had to do something. I had to. The Shadow Broker was going to trade your body to the Collectors. I found out through an informant, Feron.” She pulls up an image of a drell from the data pad and a softer look meets her eyes, making her look just a bit more like the Liara I remember. “He betrayed me, a few times, actually. Yet I still call him a friend. According to this, he’s alive.”

_Wait, Collectors? Wait, what?_

“Back up a bit. The Shadow Broker was trying to sell me? For what?” And there’s no real hiding the look of disgust on my face.

“I don’t know, Shepard,” she says, distressed. “But I wasn’t planning on finding out. I can’t imagine you’d want the Collectors involved.”

“It doesn’t sound like a good day.” Harbinger’s taunts echo in my mind and I suppress a shudder. “So why Cerberus?”

“They…” She swallows her words. “They promised there was hope. That they could bring you back. And after everything else that happened, I had to make a choice. The entire time I was terrified that you would hate me or kill me if you’d found out. I had to take that chance.”

What a fucking catastrophe. She kept me out of Collector hands, but Jesus fucking Christ I could’ve just stayed dead. But I’m here again, so…

_Know what, V? Now’s not the time. Get your head on straight later._

“No, I get it,” I say after a long pause. “Given the circumstances, you did what you had to do.” I try to give her an easy smile. “Besides, I’m here. Alive and kicking. Sounds like I’ve got you to thank for that.”

She looks at me, a mixture of sadness and relief. “You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that. When you came back, I didn’t know if you would be the same person, or if you would still remember…” She sighs and ducks her head. “Well, you’re here now and that’s what matters. And you’ve given me hope. This entire time I’ve been gearing up for revenge. Now we have a chance to set things right.”

She stands and turns off her consoles. “I’ll need time to go through the data. Can you gear up and meet at my apartment in about an hour?”

“Sure,” I say. I pull the address from her omni-tool. “Should give us plenty of time to come up with a plan.”

**~*~**

The skycar drops me off at the building. Nos Astra police are crawling all over the place. I hear troubling words like shoot-out, missing victim, T’soni.

_Oh Christ._

“This is my friend’s house! She lives here!” I shout to the nearest officer, a turian on deck. “What the fuck happened?”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but you can’t jus– Hey!” He puts his arms out to block my way.

“I’ll invoke Spectre status if I have to, buddy.” I glare him down. “Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Guess that’ll make two Spectres on this case,” a smooth contralto voice interjected. “Thank you, officer. Your people are dismissed.”

I size up the newcomer as she saunters down the stairs. An asari, prettier than most, with streaks of lavender across a no-nonsense face. She approaches with the confident ease of a commando.

“Tela Vasir, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. You’re _the_ Commander Shepard.” She holds her hand out for a human handshake.

“You’re a Spectre,” I say, dumbstruck. “Can’t say I’ve met too many.”

“That’s how it usually goes,” she shrugs. “Not too many know who’s who among us. You’re one of our most famous operatives. Might even get you to sign my chest plate after this.” If she had eyebrows at least one of them would be cocked upward that that last comment.

_A… fan?_

“So… what exactly happened here?” I glance around the room. “If I had to guess, there was a gunfight and biotics. Which isn’t saying much on Illium.”

“Good job,” the asari replies. “You managed in two minutes what those flunkies were figuring out for thirty. I gave them a gold star for finding the bullet holes.” She gestures toward the window before leaning against the stair railing with measured ease. “Any idea who would want to hurt your friend?”

“If I knew that, I’d be out the door by now,” I reply, searching the perimeter for signs of, well, anything. “Considering she’s an information broker in the Terminus Systems, I’d say probably loads of people by now.” I stop and take in the asari. “She… _was_ following a lead on the Shadow Broker.”

The asari smirks at me. “That’s a tough enemy to have. For what it’s worth, there’s only the mess and the bullet holes. No blood, no body. I think your girl got away.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, short-lived as I continue to look around. Much like her office, the apartment showcases Liara’s rather classic style; tasteful decorations, a mix of modern human art, classic asari furniture with sweeping feminine curves, and various Prothean artifacts from the countless digs she went on. Other than the obvious signs of struggle, nothing stands out.

“This makes no damn sense. She knew I was coming. Where would she go?” I mutter.

“Maybe she snuck in a message somewhere before she ditched,” Vasir offers. “You know her better than I do. She the type to leave any back-ups?”

I perk at that. “Definitely.” I don’t bother checking her consoles, knowing she would have wiped them. Whatever clue she left behind would have to be subtle, something only I would get.

_Ours not to reason why._

The thought rattles in my head and suddenly I wish I brought Garrus. It was supposed to be a boring night, or at least boring by my standards. No need for backup, supposedly. Besides I wanted answers, not an excuse to fawn over my ground squad. I shouldn’t be thinking about him right now.

I should be thinking _like_ him. He was always the better detective.

I head up the stairs, the ancient poem drumming a rhythm in my mind. The second level opens into a loft bedroom with a fish tank that rivaled mine on the _Normandy_. More artwork, some plants, artifacts, and… Hang on. A photo on her nightstand.

Virmire.

Liara, ever the archaeologist, was adamant about chronicling our missions. She photographed damn near everything, wrote reports that went above and beyond Alliance regs, and managed to coax stories out of the ground crew once she got acquainted with us. _“So much history gets lost and it’s regretful every time. We’re on the verge of something big, and I want to make it easier on my colleagues fifty thousand years from now,”_ she said then. So after I rallied Wrex back to our side, before Kirrahe gave his “hold the line” speech, Liara snapped a few pictures of us all. This particular one showed me and Ashley, relieved smiles on our faces, while Tali and Liara flanked us.

_“She fought hard. She was strong.”_

I reach for the photograph, hand trembling. _Get a grip, V._ I look at the image closer, the deadly _Normandy_ ladies, Pressley once said.

The photograph changes.

“Huh. That sure didn’t happen when I looked at that pic,” Vasir says behind me. “It must be keyed to your ID. What’s that image of?”

I jerk my head back, and see the asari’s concerned and curious face. She must have seen something in my look just then because her expression softens.

“Don’t worry, Commander. We’ll find her.”

“Yeah,” I nod. I look at the new image. “It’s a dig site. Eden Prime going by the land marks.”

_Where it all began._

“Well that’s something.” She walks toward the stairs with a purposeful stride. “There’s a bunch of artifacts scattered around here. What say we start with the expensive bits and work our way down?”

I nod approvingly. “Ma’am, I am liking how that brain works. Let’s try the big dusty one by the stairs.”

We make our way downstairs and approach the artifact in question. To untrained eyes it’s another giant rock, but Liara classified this giant rock as a Prothean statue. I stare at it, searching through memories that aren’t really mine until knowledge imprinted on me a lifetime ago kicks in. An ancient warrior god. Figures. I press a button on the display case, expecting a dead end. A disk pops out instead.

“Aces,” I say with a faint smile. “Looks like I got something.”

Vasir strides over. “Fantastic. Let’s pop it in the terminal and see what it says.”

A recorded vid-call appears on the large screen.

_“It was tricky, but you paid for the best. I was able to narrow it down to a system, but you’ll have to do the rest of the legwork.”_

_“Noted.”_

_“Pick-up is at my office. Baria Frontiers, in the Dracon Trade Center. Forgive me for not wanting to know anything else beyond our exchange. I don’t want the trouble or the backlash.”_

_“Relax, Seket. I’ll see you in a few hours.”_

The vid ends, and I rub my forehead. “Alright. Looks like that’s our next stop. Ready, Vasir?”

The commando gives me a cocky grin. “A chance to run and gun with the Commander? I was born ready.”

**~*~**

The Dracon Trade Center is well across town, but Spectre status allows us to bypass the legal traffic paths. The asari also happens to drive about as mercurial as I did with my old Mako. Within fifteen minutes we arrive in front of the building.

“Baria Frontiers is on the third floor of this building,” Vasir says as we walk up. “No police chatter, so we’re either early for the party or late.”

A sharp crack emits overhead, and in an instant the air fills with fire, glass, and screams. People burst from the front doors in a sheer panic, smoke following close behind.

_Oh, fuck…_

“Liara’s in there!”

More bombs go off, knocking us back. When the dust settles and my eyes clear, I see several bodies scattered across broken glass and rubble. All dead or wishing for death.

“Shit! They just took out three floors!” Tela Vasir looks at me, face stern and tense. “They might still be in there. I’ll take the skycar and seal off the building from the top!”

“I’ll work my way up from here,” I respond.

“Just leave some for me,” she calls back from the skycar.

I creep through the building, passing through chaos at every pass. A stench hangs in the air, reeking of improvised explosions and burnt flesh. Too much like the plague wards on Omega.

I cut on my olfactory filters.

We keep in radio contact. As we progress I feel like I have the easier end of the bargain. There’s not much call for mercenaries when the opposition’s blown to bits. I near the third level and finally hear shouts from around the corner.

“Vasir, heads up! I got mercs on my end with damn good weapons!”

“Say hello to the Shadow Broker’s private army, Commander!” The asari shouts into the comm. I can hear gunfire on her end as well. I can only hope that means she’s closing in.

I queue up an overload sequence and lob biotic spheres at the squad. There’s only a few of them, nice guns or not. But without back-up, the going was slower than I’d like.

After taking out the mercs, I walk through another blast radius. A dim smoky haze mingles with steam from the sprinklers. I hear a door close. Following the sound, I head down a long mangled corridor.

I hear a gunshot. Then another shot, like a sharp crack.

I swap to my assault rifle and sprint toward the door. It opens into an office with glass windows overlooking a courtyard, and the scene is about expected.

Liara’s contact from the vid call lays dead, green blood splattered against the wall. Close by is a hired agent, human, slumped to the ground with a precise hole in his helmet. And just past the door is Tela Vasir, a grim disappointed look on her face as she holsters her Shuriken. She looks over her shoulder at me.

“Damn shame, this. If I was a few seconds faster…”

“If you were a few seconds faster, you would have killed me too.” Liara appears from behind me, gun trained on Tela Vasir’s head. “You have something that belongs to me.”

“You’re alive! But… what’s going on?” My eyes dart from one blue girl to the other.

“You’ve had a rough day, so I’ll let this slide. Why don’t you put that gun down?” Vasir suggests, surprisingly calm.

“I saw you!” Liara shouts. “I double backed after I left. I watched you break into my apartment!”

“Wait,” I say. “Break in?”

_She came from upstairs._

“No hard feelings, Shepard.” Vasir leers at me. “Just needed a little help finding her.”

“Wait. You used me to track down Liara’s whereabouts? That’s no fun.” I aim my gun at the asari. “I guess you’ve got the data Liara came here for. Mind giving that back?”

She cocks her non-brow. “Good guess. But as a matter of fact, I do mind.”

A blue burst of light flashes around her, shattering the glass windows. Shards turn to shrapnel as she unleashes a biotic wave at us. She turns and runs through the makeshift exit, bathing herself in dark energy as she falls.

Without thinking I give chase, and dash out the window after her. It’s three stories. It’s three fucking stories.

I catch the asari and grapple her, clinging on in a mixture of battle rage and self-preservation. _She’s_ genetically equipped to handle a three-story fall, but she’s also equipped with barriers and a pistol. On impulse, I detonate my tech armor.

We fall. Hard. A festival of lights and pain greet my eyes. I feel bullets graze me, and hear her sprint away. Groaning, I reach for my SMG and empty my clip at the retreating figure. I slump back to the ground and roll over, just in time to see Liara float the three stories and give chase after her. I tilt my head back and see a vertigo scene of T’Soni leveling a merc on the way out the courtyard.

_So not even a kiss goodbye, Liara?_

Once the medigel kicks in, I follow the shouts and gunfire back outside. Liara’s firing at the Spectre behind cover while dodging biotic blasts. Overhead, I see Vasir’s car touch down in front of the building, and she jumps in.

It dimly occurs to me that I haven’t owned a car in years.

“She’s getting away!” Liara’s shout snaps me back into focus. “Hurry!” She presses her omni-tool against the side of a cab until sparks fly out. She opens the door and beckons me. “Get in!”

“I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh by the goddess,” she mutters. “I’ll make it up to you. You drive.”

“About time this gets fun.”

**~*~**

“You enjoyed that a bit too much.” Liara grumbles as we climb out of the battered taxi.

I laugh. “Of course I did!” I scan our surroundings. We landed with artistic flair in the atrium of a hotel next to the smoking remains of Vasir’s yellow skycar. There’s no sign of Vasir herself, but drops of purple blood speckle the ground.

“C’mon, she couldn’t have gotten far.” Liara follows the traces left behind. I follow after her, still a bit pissed at how she’s been acting. Secretive, no regard for anyone else. Too ruthless for her own good. Nothing at all like the person I cared about.

_More like you._

I shake the thought away as we navigate through the hotel. We follow the blood trail through a trashed room where a half-naked man and two asari are crying. Xeno porn blares on a large projector screen, filling the room with cheesy techno beats.

“What the hell kind of place is this?” I ask, pocketing a credit chit from a side table.

“Azure. It’s a luxury resort that caters to certain… interests. ‘Azure’ is slang for a part of the asari body in some areas of Illium.” We exit through the other side of the room, where’s there still traces of blood and broken items. All the signs of someone trying to leave in a hurry. “Mainly the lower reaches, near the bottom,” she smirks.

“Nope,” I say with a head shake. “Didn’t need to know.”

“And people thought I get flustered,” she replies.

“I do no–” I blink. “Do I?”

“Yes.”

The blood trail leads us to a balcony restaurant overlooking the city. Ahead is the asari, trying to look inconspicuous among the patrons. Hard to do while bleeding out in full armor, but I salute her efforts. Unfortunately, two more people turning up in guns and armor does nothing for the atmosphere. This evening’s turning into a mess.

“Vasir! Turn around, and let’s not make this any uglier than it needs to be,” I warn.

She turns slowly, then grabs a nearby woman. “Come here. What’s your name?” she asks the whimpering bystander. “Doesn’t matter to me, but I figure your new friends here want to know. If you come any closer to me,” her eyes dart back to us, “her head gets blown away.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you’re gonna bring a hostage into this? Let her go!” I aim my Shuriken.

“I’m going to end you,” Liara says quietly.

I glance at Liara apprehensively, then turn my attention back to Vasir. I honestly didn’t care about hurting the hostage or not, but something about the way Liara didn’t either bothered the hell out of me. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t her.

“It’s ok, Liara. We’ll handle it. The usual way.” I give her a steady look, then try my hardest to look casual.

“Weapons on the ground now, or this woman gets it!” Vasir shouts. “Now, Commander!”

I give the asari my best thousand-yard stare and a shit-eating grin. “Y’know I’m still a little new to the Spectre biz, but isn’t taking a hostage just a little fucking trite? You’re getting blood all over her nice dress.”

“Weapons on the ground, now!” And I see her eyes. Something about her eyes have this jagged malice that reeks of self-preservation.

_Everyone’s got a tell._

My grin falls. “If you think a hostage is gonna stop me, then I suggest you drop the Spectre act and go back to dancing. I’m sure this place might bring back memories. My apologies to whatserface.” I lower my gun. Behind them, a table surrounded in dark energy floats.

“You’re bluffing,” Vasir says.

_You’re right._

I smile and cock an eyebrow. “Do it.”

Liara jerks the table towards us, knocking the asari and human girl out. We scramble towards them. Liara pins the asari down with biotics while I scan the human’s vitals. Unconscious, but she’ll live. I turn my focus on Tela Vasir.

Despite all this, I still kind of _liked_ the chick.

I scan her vitals as well. She not dead, but she’s lost a lot of blood. Medigel would fix her up, but for her to be in this state, she likely ran out. At this point she’ll need legitimate medical attention. Liara searches her, and retrieves a disc. For good measure she scans info from Vasir’s omni-tool.

“We have what we need,” she says grimly. “Let’s finish her off, and then we can–”

I slap the Spectre awake.

“Shepard, what are you doing?” she hisses.

Vasir comes to, a groan just above a whisper escaping her. When her eyes focus, she tries feebly to struggle out of my reach. I pin her down.

“You’re dead,” she mutters. “The Shadow Broker has been in power for decades. He’s stronger than anything you’ve ever faced!”

“Unless he’s a Reaper, I highly doubt it.” I look at the asari impassively. “Listen, you probably hate me and want to kill me. And believe me, I could end you right now with a well-timed sneeze. But the way I see it, having more Spectres around might be better in the long run.”

“You and your damn Reapers,” she spits. “No one believes your little story. Especially now that you’re working for those damn terrorists.”

I roll my eyes. “Says the person who helped bomb a trade center. Listen, Vasir. Your hands are dirtier than mine and _that’s_ saying something. So I’ll cut you a deal. Ceasefire on me and Liara, and you get to live for another hundred years, Spectre status and all. The trade center was done in by unnamed mercs, and we swooped in like heroes to save the day. Otherwise,” I nudge my gun to her temple. “I take up art as a new hobby.”

She grimaces, and tries again to struggle out of my grasp. I hold the pistol firmly against her head.

“I won’t have to kill you. He’ll do it himself if you go after him.”

“Calculated risk. Deal or no deal?”

“Fine. I never fucking want to see you again. No offense.”

“None taken,” I reply. On impulse, I take a bloodstained finger and quickly draw a “VS” on her chest plate. “But good working with you. C’mon, Liara, let’s get out of here.” I stand up and make a quick stride back to the hotel parking lot, punching in a generic untraceable distress call for the Spectre’s location.

Liara catches up to me. “That wasn’t how you usually handle things. Typically, people who bring harm to you or your friends die.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m getting a little tired. If killing was always the answer, then I’d be better off as a merc.”

“It’s not just that, Shepard,” her voice tinged with anger. “Whatever happened to your ‘don’t turn your back on the body’ policy? She could still go back on her word and try to kill us anyway.”

I stop, and give Liara a level look. “Shit clearly changes, Liara. And I’d say that policy went out the window about an hour ago.” I ignore her briefly hurt face and head towards the skycar. “Sometimes we put trust in funny places,” I say quietly. “She’ll keep her word one way or another. And if she doesn’t, then I’ll handle the consequences. For now, let’s drop it and head back to the _Normandy_. Pretty sure this isn’t over yet.”

“As you say, Commander.” And there’s no mistaking the anger and resignation in her voice.

_All of the consequences._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asari wind up learning all the different slang across several species, making asari-specific jokes rather pedestrian after awhile.


	23. The Shadow Broker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Liara take on the Shadow Broker, but not before Garrus helps tackle some demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! I love them all and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.**

**Garrus**

“That might’ve been the worst one yet.”

“Nah, c’mon. You laughed and did the mandible thing, it counts.” Joker spins his chair back to the bridge console on hearing the clearance alert. “Alright one more. How do you stop a krogan battlemaster from charging?”

I grin and fold my arms. “I give. How?”

“Take away his credit chit!” Joker laughs. “Nice, looks like she’s back and brought an old friend.” We both glance at the airlock as it hisses open.

Seeing Liara and Shepard board the ship takes me back to a happier time. That they look fresh from a firefight only adds to the nostalgia. Both look pissed in their own way. Shepard wears her usual scowl, meaning she either had a bout of Shepard Luck or she needs that brown sludge she calls coffee. Likely both.

Liara wears a smaller frown with a matching glare. She looks mad, but given her activities on Nos Astra, the entire galaxy could raise her ire. She follows Shepard into the bridge where Joker and I were chatting.

“Joker. Got some coordinates for you to follow. What can you tell us?” Shepard hands him a datapad.

“Holy shit, Liara! How the hell have you been?” Joker exclaims with a wide grin.

“I’ve been better. But it’s good to see you too, Joker.” She swaps her tiny frown for a wry smile.

“Better, huh?” he replies, eyeing the two. “No offense, but you guys look like shit. Weren’t you guys just supposed to have dinner or something? You slap around some vorcha, mix things up a bit?”

Shepard smirks. “A whole army of ‘em, Joker. Might’ve been easier if I had back-up.”

Liara glares at her but says nothing.

“You could’ve pinged me,” I reply.

“You needed a break. Besides, if I took you out on every mission what would we have to talk about?” She cocks a hip out and folds her arms, looking dead at me with a spark in her eyes. Surely it’s not my imagination, right?

“Never stopped us before,” I say, taking in the sight of the small human. Fresh from a firefight…

_Damn._

“Yeah, so before this turns awkward let me tell you about this planet,” Joker interjects. “You’re looking at a garden world in the loosest sense of the word. Intense storms along the edge here,” he points at the holo, “where the hottest and coldest parts meet. We can get there in a couple of hours, but there’s no way I’ll be able to land this bird.”

“We’ll need to stealth in, then drop by shuttle,” Shepard says to Liara. “What are we looking for exactly?”

“A sizable frigate that follows the solar cycle. It’s likely hiding in those storms. Perhaps we will be able to get better intel once we arrive.”

“Yeah.” Shepard sighs. “I should go. If the reception’s going to be anything like having dinner, then I need to clean up and get some rations in me. You all have fun with the reunion thing.” With a dismissive wave of her hand, she stalks off.

“Well. She’s in a mood,” Joker says, looking off at the retreating figure. “What pissed her off this time?”

“I do not wish to talk about it,” Liara says tersely. “Garrus, it’s good to see you again. Would you do me the honors of showing me around?”

I glance at Joker. “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. It’s built like the original, just a bit bigger.”

We move through the ship, nodding to crew members as we pass. I introduce her to the friendlier staff, but for some reason I don’t exactly feel comfortable with showing her off to the current ground crew. Of the ones I’ve started to tolerate, none would be as… appreciative of her quiet, gentle nature. Hell, even Samara had a harsher edge about her than I think Liara would be capable of.

We wind up in the observation deck, empty for once. Usually Samara meditated here, but lately she and the drell have taken to training in the shuttle bay. I could see why she liked it in here. It’s quiet, calming.

“So,” I draw out the word. “I imagine you didn’t want to talk about it in front of Joker, but is everything alright?”

Her guarded demeanor shatters, and she’s right back to the young Maiden from years ago. “No, it is not alright. I couldn’t be angrier at her, or myself. From the moment I met her, she’s been the one to bail me out, protect me from harm’s way. And here she is again, solving all of my problems.”

I frown. “Is that why we’re on the way to who knows where? Because she’s helping you?”

“The stealth drives were necessary to get in close and infiltrate the Shadow Broker’s ship.” She fidgets as she walks toward the window. “I hate it, Garrus. That entire time on the _Normandy_ I felt so useless. So out of my element. Inferior. And when she… I had to do something. Anything to repay that debt. And I may have made it worse.”

“What exactly happened?” I shake my head. “Or do I even want to know?”

She looks at me with weary eyes. “I… I’m the one that gave her body to Cerberus. They said they wouldn’t change her, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. Sometimes she’s Shepard, and other times she’s just so… not.” She taps her forearm in a mnemonic rhythm, one I recognize from one of my old C-SEC partners. “Has that… What have been your observations?”

I stride over to her and stare out the window. “Liara, she _died._ Of course she’s going to change. And before you even ask,” I say, stealing a glance at her, “it’s not something we talk about.” I sigh. “What do you want from her? She’s still her.”

“I just want to get my friend Feron back, and maybe go on to have a normal life.”

“Fat chance of that happening, Liara.” I lean against the window, taking in the view. “Besides, what good was normal doing for you anyway? For any of us? Can you imagine what life would be like if she didn’t come in ‘solving problems’ as you say?”

“I’d probably still be stuck in that force field,” she smiles wryly. “Or dead. I never thanked you for that, either. So, thank you.” She leans against me and takes my arm.

I’m taken aback a little by the sudden intimacy. It’s not usually a gesture I’d associate with her, though it wasn’t uncommon for… other asari I knew. _Melanis, you coward._ Their people, from my observation at least, sought physical comforts, rivaled only by quarians. It’s one of many traits that unfortunately lead to uglier reputations about them, despite their superiority. In that regard, I always felt Liara was different. More sheltered, over a century old, but still so young. She must be feeling particularly down about all of this.

“There’s ah, no need to thank me,” I say. “Besides, you were never useless. Your biotics saved our hides more than enough times. And _you_ figured out Ilos, not us. We never would have without your help.”

She says nothing so I add, “Knowing what you know, what we all fought, and you still went back to an almost normal life. I won’t fault you if that’s what you really want, but is it?”

“I’d like to believe that I did at some point,” she admits. “I couldn’t bring myself to go back to mundane dig sites, not after what happened with Shepard. The information brokering was primarily to gather intel on the Shadow Broker. I just happened to be good at it,” she smiles at me wanly. “Not good enough it seems. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

I tense. “You needn’t worry about that,” I say briskly. “His trail ran cold for some time.”

She gives me a lingering look before she pulls away. “I may have taken up enough of your time. I better go prepare.” She heads toward the door and turns back. “Thank you again, Garrus,” she intones.

I check the time. It’s about another GST hour until we reach Hagalaz. I step out of the observation deck and head back to the battery, to clear my head and get some solitude. A normal life indeed. What good was the normal life at the Citadel doing for me, knowing there were bigger threats out there? What did a normal life matter when people got away with crime and corruption, or when annihilation drew near?

Of course, that kind of thinking got them all killed, so maybe there was something to a ‘normal’ life. It’s certainly what my father wanted. Would it have really made him proud to see me come back to Palaven, find a spouse, get promoted a few tiers? Spirits, even the thought of it sounds weird and confining.

When I enter the battery Shepard’s already here, and she tosses me something.

“Catch.”

I grab it midair and inspect the item. A scope, a rather nice one, clearly lifted from a merc. “What’s the occasion?”

“So stop me if you heard this one,” she says, ignoring my question. “A human and an asari are supposed to meet for dinner. Human gets all dressed up, wine, flowers the works. She shows up, and the blue girl’s nowhere to be seen. Instead she finds a whole different asari. Deadlier, meaner, wicked sense of humor.” Shepard smirks at me, and I can’t help but smile back. “So what do you think the human said?”

The very idea of Shepard with wine and flowers amuses me. One of her ‘yarns’ as Joker put it, though I never got what string had to do with telling a funny story. I play along. “Something like ‘who are you, and what have you done with my friend,’ I suppose.”

“Got it in one,” she replies, cocking her brow in a meaningful look. “And the asari goes, I’m a Spectre trying to kill your friend. Still working on the punchline, but that’s what I’ve got so far.”

“Ouch,” I comment. The angry looks start to make more sense. “Gonna have to work on that one before you hit the big times. Jokes were never your strong suit, remember?”

She lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, I know. Joke’s on me because after all that, I let her go. She killed civilians, and for some reason I just. I couldn’t.” She grimaces and hops onto the battery railing to sit. “Liara could, _would’ve_ in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t. How fucked up is that?”

“Pretty bad Shepard,” I say with a shrug. “But your Council orders are to keep a low profile, right? Killing another Spectre could cause a galactic incident.” I lean against the railing beside her, closer than a truly respectable distance. “Think about how hard it was to prove our case against Saren. The last thing you want are reporters calling you a Spectre killer.”

“I know. I wish I could say that was the main reason.” She hangs her head and stares off at nothing. “We’ve all changed a little, didn’t we Garrus?”

“Of course we did,” I say. And maybe again I’ll blame this on the asari, but I tuck my arm in hers, echoing the gesture from a few minutes ago. “It’d be awfully boring if we didn’t.”

She leans on me, smelling of coffee and gunfire. I often associated those things with her, but now it’s etched in my brain, matching it with the cool of her arm, her breath against my cowl. And like last time, nothing stays. Before I have much time to react, she kicks off of the railing and stands, shoulders squared and jaw hard-set. The Commander was back standing before me instead of Shepard. She gives me a lingering look.

“I should go,” she says, darting her eyes away. “But don’t, uh. Don’t just stay in here like a hermit or anything. Talk to the rest of the crew. And not just the weird murder squad you guys formed. Thane, Samara. They’re good to talk to.” Her eyes soften, but it’s an echo of what she let surface a mere second ago.

She exits, leaving me no clearer on where we stand. Perhaps some things stay the same after all.

  
**Shepard**

I head to the makeshift armory in the cargo bay. Whoever’s in that base gets a boot up their ass because I need something to shoot. Bad.

 _Just what the hell was_ that _, V?_

There's nothing wrong with me, right? Everyone knows I flirt. Hell, that whole mess with Kaidan and Liara happened because I'm a huge flirt. I even try to goad Joker, and he takes it in stride. It's just my way. It’s fun.

So why am I like _this_ all of a sudden? I shouldn't be. This doesn't make any sense.

I wrap my knuckles and tie my hair back. I try to focus on how Cerberus decided that long hair is prettier. Focus on how this whole operation is the biggest set-up if I ever saw one. Focus on the Illusive Man's stupid ass face and creepy eyes, and how if I ever find him I’m beating his ass like he stole _The Last Supper_. Anything to keep my mind off fucking turians.

_…Damn it._

I adjust my amp, already feeling my biotics flair up.

_Just nut the fuck up, V._

Maybe he just knows it’s my way. I can’t expect to run and gun with someone for all this time without them catching on to my quirks. And maybe he does it for the same reason as I do. That’s gotta be it.

_It’s not._

Or maybe somewhere in the past month he finally worked the stick out his ass.

_Still doesn’t explain your little fetish, right?_

I try to picture him as an outsider would as I clip in my visor and breather mask. Turian, nothing like a human. Hard plating, too few fingers, carapace and crests. Dog legs, as Jack charmingly put it. Nothing there for me.

I try really hard. But all I can see is Garrus. Familiar. Friend. Eyes that could stop a bullet with a voice to match.

 _Damn it_.

I put on the rest of my armor and check my guns. I have to put it out of mind and deal with the problems at hand. I jerk my head around as the elevator dings. Liara steps out, already fully prepped for the excursion.

Our conversation on the way to the _Normandy_ hadn’t exactly gone well. Cooler heads can surely prevail now, right? She’s been through a lot, so if she changed a bit after two years I can’t very well fault her for that. It probably wasn’t easy.

_You got the easier end of the bargain. You only died. She’s the one that had to keep on living._

She approaches the bench tentatively, checking her pistols. I look at her and give a reassuring smile. “Listen, Liara. I just want to say that… well.” And I don’t really know _what_ I want to say. “We’ll get in and get out as promised. Your friend Feron? He’ll be safe.”

**~*~**

The base is a beautifully complex design, a cruiser-sized ship spanning several meters long. A throwback to the old days of spaceflight when people cared more about surviving and less about stealth drives. The shuttle takes us in close enough for us to drop on the surface. Because of the raging storms around us, a drop and go is the best option.

The situation is far from ideal. We’re lucky that some of the ship’s environmental systems work outside, such as gravity, but we’re too damn exposed out here. We activate our mag-boots just in case, making for a sluggish trek.

The goal is a hatch on the far side of the ship. Once we got in range of the base, Tali and EDI hacked into their security and got a schematic of the ship layout. All we have to do is follow the quietest path, hope that this Feron chump is still alive, and get the hell out.

We edge along carefully, avoiding the LOKI mechs stationed along the ship. Even though it’s slow going, we fall into a familiar pattern of hand signals, nods, and the occasional quip. Just like old times.

“New rule: don’t look down,” she says, peering over a ledge.

I laugh. “It’s not exactly a paradise down there, that’s for sure. So what’s this Feron guy to you, anyway? You said he betrayed you. Why save him?”

“He worked for the Shadow Broker, but he also leaked intel to Cerberus,” she replies, voice raising in pitch over the howling wind. “When we realized the Shadow Broker was working with the Collectors, he did the right thing. Or tried to.”

“Are you guys a thing?” I blurt out. Another gust of wind blows past, making us cling to the railing.

“Shepard, you will not succeed in making me blush,” she shouts, stilted.

“Sounds like a nerve.” The wind drops, and we continue our trek. I look across at an open corridor of sorts. “Man, did they run out of guardrails? I’m surprised the Broker’s agents don’t mutiny.”

“You can’t mutiny if you’re dead,” she points out. “Maybe the agents like the view. What would give you that idea anyway about Feron? You’ve had no interactions.” She spreads her arms out and envelopes us in a small barrier to block against the wind.

I shrug as we trudge across the corridor to a ship opening, likely to a control room. “Just a hunch, I guess. Let’s see if we can get in this way.”

I open the door’s interface and type in an override sequence. Three minutes to compile. Ugh. We might as well throw spears while we’re at it. “Remember when omni-gel used to solve everything?” I remark.

“I’ve got a bypass shunt that can crack it,” she replies, pulling up her omni-tool.

“Will it take less than three minutes?” I ask.

“I don’t know, Shepard, I’ve never broken into the Shadow Broker’s base before.” A pause, and I see her smirk behind her breathing mask. “Well not this one anyway.”

I roll my eyes. “Alright, alright. Dumb question dumb answer. See what you can do.” _Hang on._ “Wait, what do you mean this one? Just what the hell were you up to all this time?”

“More than you,” she says, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice.

_Call it humor therapy._

A large red interface appears before the locked door, and she initiates a countdown sequence. One and a half minutes, so we’ve at least upgraded to bows and arrows. I lean against the frame staring out from where we came. My visor detects movement.

“So uh,” I start, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Just to be sure, does that shunt work? Because it looks like we got company.” I take out my Tempest and prep my omni-tool for an overload. We hear movement around the corner.

“I don’t have much opportunity to test illegal software, and it didn’t come with a warranty,” she says tersely, whipping out her pistol.

  _Here they come._

Gunfire rattles over the din of the storm. I hear myself bark orders to take cover as I fire off the overload sequence. A large deep black orb appears out of thin air, sucking in three of the operatives. I launch a biotic blast at them, and a brief flash erupts from the singularity.

“Clear!” I shout. “How’s it looking back there?”

“It’s done! Hurry before more come through!”

We escape inside to an eerily quiet hallway. On the bright side, we don’t have storms or gunfire beating down on us. And even if there’s an ambush up ahead, we still have time to regroup. I get my bearings and scan for more mercs while Liara hacks into a terminal.

“I’ve downloaded the ship’s internal layout,” she says, eyes glittering in the dim light. “We’re headed towards the prison block. And Feron.”

More mercs swarm in from stairs at the end of the hall. We take position and dispatch them. Advanced weapons, large numbers, and home field advantage, and this is still the best he can do? Whoever was pulling the strings behind all this was severely underestimating us.

For once, this might actually go as planned.

**~*~**

We find Feron, alive but unconscious and strapped down in a torture chamber. Getting him out was out of the question, not without risking severe neural damage. We have to cut the power source to the room first, which means going through the central communication room. Which means going to the center of the Shadow Broker’s lair.

And we suspect the broker doesn’t take vacation days.

We take out his mercs like well-oiled machines. I try not to let nostalgia take over, but it’s hard not to enjoy someone familiar fighting alongside me. As happy as I feel about it, I know it won’t last, that it will never really be like old times again.

We find ourselves at the door leading to the control room. We look at each other, blue face looking into brown, and the sadness behind her eyes tell me what I already know.

_Two years… just gone._

I force a grin on my face. “Thousand credits say it’s actually a pack of asari commandos posing as one guy,” I say.

“Thousand says it’s a volus,” she replies with a tiny smile. “Most likely a male.”

“The holder of the galaxy’s darkest secrets, with the power to ruin careers, start wars, and extort the highest reaches of galactic government, and you pin it on a three-foot-tall credit pusher?” I retort, cocking a brow.

“Napoleon complex is what you humans say,” she says wryly. “Besides, who else would have the patience?”

“You’re on, T’soni.”

We burst through the door and scan the room. It’s dim, save for the pale blue glow of the central power source on the ceiling and countless screens and monitors further back. In the center, behind a sparse imposing desk sits a creature I’ve never seen before, even academically. Whatever it is, it’s bigger than a krogan with a face made out of nightmares. Horn-things like a salarian, several unblinking eyes leering at us like we’re meat, and a fucking _maw_ fluttering in a triangulated pulse. Who the _fuck_ thought we needed a thresher maw in a three-piece suit?

“Looks like we lost that bet,” I manage to croak out.

“Here for the drell?” the thing speaks, voice raspy and harsh. “Reckless even for you, Commander.” It folds its arms across the table in a deliberate motion.

“You’re not exactly subtle either,” I reply, steeling myself. “The bombing? Vasir? Working for the Collectors?”

“Extreme, but necessary. Your arrival is convenient. The Collectors’ offer still stands.”

“Cut the threats, yahg,” Liara challenges, gun aimed directly at the beast.

_Yahg…? Did my translator glitch?_

“It’s pointless to oppose me, _asari_ ,” the thing says, blinking for the first time. “I see all, hear all. You fumble in the dark, digging for clues. It’s very… quaint.”

She scoffs. “Did you rehearse that in front of the original Broker?” she sneers, face colder than anything I’ve ever seen out of Liara. “Didn’t think I’d notice how old this ship is?” she continues, “Let me guess. Slave? Kidnapped? Snatched away from your homeworld by some trophy hunter stronger than you? No,” she finishes, a cruel smile on her face. “A pet. How am I doing?”

I sneak a glance at her. _Jesus murdering_ hell _, Liara._

The Shadow Broker stands, and oh shit is he way bigger than a krogan. He reels back and slams the desk into pieces. With no further preamble, he lunges.

_Shit!_

We scatter just barely out of his reach. I duck behind a pillar, and I assume Liara did the same because she’s nowhere to be seen. From the center of the room, the Shadow Broker lets out a long low yell. He shoots a steady stream of bullets in my direction.

I hear a break in the pattern, then unleash a barrage of my own. Biotics flare into view from the other side of the room, hitting the yahg dead on. We’ve almost got him…

He throws up some kind of shield, deflecting all of our attacks.

“They’re kinetically sensitive!” Liara yells. “Everything is bouncing off!”

“Then we do this the hard way,” I mutter. And idiot that I am, I charge head on after the unknown monster. I wail on the body parts universally sensitive; eyes and neck get heavy treatment. The shields drop, and I yell at Liara to take him down. Out of the corner of my eye I see his omni-tool glow.

He decks me hard, and I go skidding back to the pillar I came from.

My eyes blur, and for a second I swear this _thing_ knocked me back to last millennia because this piece of shit looks like a medieval knight. Omni-shield in one hand, assault rifle in the other. I’d laugh, but self-preservation’s kicking in.

My vision clears just in time to avoid a nasty onslaught of bullets. I scramble behind the pillar just as he charges toward me. I feel the rattle, and the reverb knocks me to the ground.

Alright. I do _not_ want to get hit by this guy.

I launch biotic orbs at him at point blank, then run across the room to get some distance. He lumbers toward me, shield still up. A frontal attack won’t work.

As if on cue, I hear Liara’s gun fire off, shooting him from behind.

_Perfect._

 The Shadow Broker turns toward her, and I unleash my own volley of bullets and biotics. Unsure of where to turn, he makes as if to lunge after Liara. She hits him with another flash of dark energy, and he tumbles back.

“Shepard, hit him again up close! I got an idea!” She glances upward imperceptibly.

I take the hint and charge after him. He howls something my translator can’t read and sprints toward me. I duck and tumble out of his grasp. He turns, but too late. My omni-blade slashes his back.

It connects. He screams and pins me down. And all I can see is that terrible maw fluttering in my face, hot rancid breath too close for any hint of comfort.

“Now, Liara!”

All I see are lights. Blue biotic blast, sharp electric jolts, a white-hot explosion. I’m knocked back against another pillar, then everything goes dim.  I worry for a moment that I’m losing consciousness, but the overwhelming stench assures me I’m not so lucky.

A back-up power source flickers on, and some of the glow returns to the room. All at once chatter sounds off as the monitors power back on. Status requests, power fluctuation, is the Shadow Broker alright, connection failure, on and on. I pick myself up from the ground and look over at Liara. Her back is turned, head hanging down.

Right when I step towards her, I hear her speak.

“This is the Shadow Broker. The situation is under control,” she starts. “We experienced a power fluctuation while upgrading hardware. It disrupted communications momentarily. However, we are now back online. Resume standard procedures. I want a status report on all operations within the next solar day. Shadow Broker out.”

She ends the transmission with a distinctive click, and silence hangs in the air.

I shuffle mutely toward the young asari. She exchanges a shy glance at me, worry crossing her face. Liara says apologetically, “Well everyone who’s ever seen him is dead, so…”

“So you’re the new Shadow Broker. Just like that, huh?” I holster my weapon and lean against one of the intact pillars. “At the very least, I know the intel is trustworthy.”

She looks back at the monitors. “I’m not even sure if…oh goddess, understand that I had to do it. With the Shadow Broker’s information networks, I can give you…I can…”

When she turns, her cheeks are slick with tears. Eyes stinging, I stride over to her, and cradle her like my mom used to. And probably how her mom used to, because she’s sobbing now and just lets go. We stay like this awhile, one old friend comforting another, and it hits me harder than anything the Shadow Broker dished out. Liara spent all this time worried, about me, about Feron. All this, just on the thought that I could be brought back by terrorists with a shitty God complex. It’s not exactly something an acquaintance would do.

I hang on a little tighter.

“All I wanted to do was rescue Feron,” she says as she pulls away. “But is it wrong that part of me wants this? With the Shadow Broker’s networks, I can help you. Maybe I can turn this operation into something better.”

“Don’t think you haven’t helped before, Liara,” I say back, looking at my old friend with fresh eyes. “But yeah, this seems pretty… tidy.” Then I grin, big and wide at her. “By the way, Shadow Broker. Looks like we both lost that bet, but I’d say you fight just as well as any commando.”

“What…? Shepard, that’s not funny. I don’t know if I’m ready to be called that.” She looks back at the numerous screens and feeds. “There’s so much information here, right at my fingertips. It’s going to take some time to decipher it all. In the meantime, I should check on Feron. And,” she hesitates. “I made a lot of promises. I think it’s time I kept them.”

I take a long look at the young asari, ever the linchpin throughout this whole gambit. And Christ if I can’t help but think of this as a new opportunity. She’s right, there’s no telling what resources she’ll have at her disposal. That yahg-thing already had one Spectre in their deck, and if Liara plays her cards right she’ll have at least two. Not to mention the small army of mercs, political secrets, and everything else.

And she wants to use it for _good_. The galaxy doesn’t deserve her.

“Liara,” I say, giving her a final pat on the shoulder. “Stay safe. And don’t be a stranger. You uh, obviously know how to find me.”

“I will. And thank you.”  


**Garrus**

I wake up to a ping from my omni-tool. Like most nights, the sleep wasn’t great to begin with. Instinctually, I survey the dim surroundings of the quarters but find nothing out of place. I sigh, and look at the message.

The encryption is unfamiliar, but doesn’t take too long to crack. When I read the message, my chest tightens, and anger just about takes over me.

 _Him_.

I don’t bother worrying where the message came from or why. All I know is one way or another I’m going to the Citadel. And I will end him once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soldiers don't cry. It blurs their vision on the battlefield.


	24. Political Leanings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and company return to the Citadel.

**Shepard**

“You come back after mysterious firefights, foul a mood as ever, and all you’ve got to say is ‘we need to go to the Citadel’ without one good reason why.” Miranda looks at me from across her consoles and steeples her hands. “Work is piling up. We need a more permanent solution for the colonies, which means going through the relay. And we need to find out the status on that IFF extraction, Shepard. The other team has gone dark for two days.”

“Hey, don’t give me that. We’re close enough and we got plenty of good reasons,” I say lazily. “I gave you a requisition list, hand-written and everything.”

“Yes, charmingly signed ‘XOs for my XO.’ Honestly!” She sighs and looks over my scribbled note and suppresses a smile. “If I’m interpreting your deplorable handwriting and… pictures… correctly, you’re trying to say we need shields?”

I nod. “Yep. Tali’s got some schematics we can use for better shielding, and some of Samara’s old contacts on the Citadel can throw in better thrusters with the labor. It’s not exactly shore leave, but whatever the non-essential crew does with their own time is on them.”

She types into her console. “Fine. I’ll see if we can’t haggle for expedited time for the installations. And it would be prudent if you’d at least _try_ to give me a better debriefing than ‘had to shoot some mercs.’ I’m trying to _help_ you, Commander. I’m not your enemy.”

“ _You’re_ not,” I reply, grabbing some sour mints from her candy bowl. “Wanna know the truth? I don’t need to repeat myself regarding your employer. The less we talk about that, the better our working relationship. Unfortunately, some of that’s gonna have to include what I disclose. What I _will_ say is we need to go to the Citadel and prep. And after that, cash in all those promises Cerberus made on my behalf. Working with mercs and thieves sure isn’t cheap, right?” I pop a mint in my mouth and grimace.

She rolls her eyes and grabs a piece for herself. “Shepard. Do me the honor of at least reading the last report to the Illusive Man. Make changes as you see fit.”

“Alright, damn.” I take the datapad she offers and look it over. And then re-read it. “Uh, Miranda? These dates are fine, but there’s zero mention of Tuchanka. Or Illium. All this says is a bunch of Cerberus requests.”

She gives me a confused look. “Of course it does. All of the requests we fulfilled. Why would there be any mention of Tuchanka, Commander? It’s not like we went there recently.” She finishes speaking, but mouths something like ‘blow a–’ no.

_Go along._

“Sorry, guess I need a nap or something,” I reply, making no attempt to wipe the confused look off my face. “Yeah, this all looks fine. But we still need to go to the Citadel. Is that uh… fine?”

“Perfectly fine, Shepard,” she responds crisply. “As I said, I’ll make arrangements once we arrive.”

“Yeah,” I nod, getting up. “We should get there in about eighteen hours. I’ll lay out the barking orders then.” I remember a peculiar email I got just before heading to Hagalaz. “Oriana says hey.”

“I know.” A hint of a smile crosses her features. “The protocol was only filtering mail where her name is mentioned.”

“She said you’d say that. Fucking spy,” I wink. I walk out the door.

“I know!” she calls after me.

Had to admit, it was likely a good thing I helped Miranda with her sister. When the message came in, it was clear that Oriana was happy about the idea of a crazy spy chick for a sister. And if it got Miranda to lighten up, even better. But more than that…

I look over the datapad again. All of the missions listed in the report were minor, mostly procurement, trading intel with scientists, or other small tasks. But why lie? Why obfuscate?

I head towards the battery, stopping for coffee as I go. When I step inside, there’s no turian to be seen. Interesting.

“If you are looking for Officer Vakarian, he can be found in Life Support with Mr. Krios,” EDI chimes in. “Would you like me to alert him?”

Even more interesting. “Thanks, EDI. That won’t be necessary. If anyone asks I’ll be in Engineering.”

I head down, happy to see my advice followed for once.  


**Garrus**

“Look, I can understand what you’re saying, but it’s not just that I lost good men and women. We all knew the risks from the start. And military and C-SEC… you don’t ever get used to it, but lives end. It happens.” I clinch my fist to the side of my leg. “Every time I think about _him_ , I get sick to my stomach. No amount of money, not even saving your own skin should be worth betraying your squad.”

“Yes, but the cost of revenge. Is it not also high?” he asks in an irritatingly calm voice. “I succumbed to that path. It is an easy one to take. What would your squad want?”

“To be alive,” I say bitterly. “Some wanted to see a better life for Omega, and were ready to see it to the end. Some wanted to ‘retire,’ of course.” I air quote, feeling a little like I pissed Shepard off somehow. “But you can’t _really_ retire on a place like that, not after doing everything you could to make it livable.”

“Would you carry this burden if they were merely brothers-in-arms?” The drell looks at me with those metal-black eyes. “They became your family.”

I slump down and lean against the table. “I’d be lying if I said they weren’t significant. In the military, I lead a couple of platoons, nothing fancy. In C-SEC I had detectives assigned under me. Always _assigned_ , always given. This,” I gesture, “I felt like I was doing something right for a change because _they_ came to _me_.”

Thane nods in understanding. “I see. But would they want this? Was this what you fought for? Revenge?”

“You’re not going to convince me otherwise, Krios. Every one of my people lost someone to those gangs. _All_ of us lost someone.” I lean back and recall their faces, not dead, no rainbow of blood splattered across the base. “Weaver would’ve tried to talk me out of it,” I think aloud. “Probably the most pious person I’ve ever met. She was a human woman, former combat medic. About the calmest out of all of us. As for the rest… I don’t know. They’d understand, I know that much.”

“What were the rest like?” he asks, his curious eyes always watching.

I think back, remembering their names, their stories. “I had a batarian for a tech expert, Vortash. Quiet, bad temper at times, but he could hack into anything. Sensat was a ballistics expert, former STG. Mordin knew him,” I sigh, recalling Sensat’s ‘stubbornness.’

“No matter how many worlds we traverse, the galaxy remains small,” the drell muses. “What of the others?”

“What does it matter?” I fire back.

“If you’re not willing to recall them, you should think twice about killing for them,” he responds, voice still calm. “And if you’re still bent on killing for them, remembering them will only strengthen your resolve. Your situation is riddled with positives. Or negatives,” he finishes with a smug look. At least, smug for a drell.

I stare at him hard, trying to figure him out. The silence in the room heightens, and I tamp it out, drumming talons against the metal table. And all the while he keeps looking at me. Smug. Expectant. All the signs of a bad cop trying to pull the good cop routine.

I give in with a short huff or air. “Fine. Jack Ripper was C-SEC like me, on the forensics side. He hated his name, said it was his parents’ idea of a joke. And Butler said he was a security officer on some mining facility before he came to Omega with his wife. Had a mouth fouler than Shepard if you can believe it.”

“It’s definitely possible,” Thane chuckles. “But she has her moments of calm as well.”

 _And just how do_ you _know that?_ I shake off the thought. She asked me to get to know the guy, so the least I can do is keep an open mind.

“Were there others?”

“Yeah. Erash and Monteague came as a pair. Strange, since you don’t normally see batarians and humans and think friendship. They were both miners on Omega, and joined after a shipment was stolen. Mierin was another rare find.” I smile a little at the memory. “You never see a turian biotic out in the Terminus, but she wound up on Omega anyway. Jumpy as hell, but reliable. Our other biotic was Melenis, former Eclipse runner. She was our shield when things went sideways.”

“An asari?” I nod. “Quite the roster. Cooperating with other races isn’t that common,” he remarks.

“It’s not like I hadn’t done it before,” I drawl. “Hell, there was Krul, the last to join up. Krogan freelancer, probably about five hundred years old. Hated all us turians and salarians at first, as they do. Kept insisting every time that ‘this run was gonna be his last.’ It got so that all we could do was egg him on. He was a good man,” I sigh. “They all were.”

Quiet hangs in the air again as Thane gives me a thoughtful look. After a long pause he says softly, “They sound like an interesting bunch. And it’s clear you care for them deeply. When… when my wife departed from her body, I experienced similar feelings.” He closes his eyes, and his clasped hands shake just slightly. When he opens them again, he looks at me, sad, almost lost. “You’re right. I can’t talk you out of it, no more than anyone would have been able to for me. Just think, Vakarian. Think about what you’ll have left once that lust for vengeance is satisfied.”

“A clear conscience,” I reply, standing. As I head towards the door I hear a ping from his omni-tool, then a curse. He stands stiffly. “It is fortunate we’re heading towards the Citadel. I have something I must talk to sih–, Shepard about. We should talk again soon, Mr. Vakarian. I quite enjoyed your company.” He exits.

I check the time, ignoring the little pet name this drell decided to give our commanding officer. Not much longer now.  


**Shepard**

The Citadel jars me after spending months out in the Terminus. The station is saccharine compared to Illium, and the false sense of security rings hollow, knowing the whole place is Reaper tech. Going by the thief’s sounds of disgust, I’d say she agrees.

“You’d think security here would be the tightest in the galaxy,” Thane says.

“I know C-SEC too well to believe that’s true.” Garrus flicks a quick salute at one of the terminal guards, I think the same buddy of his that helped us out before.

“I see at least eight fatal flaws a skilled assassin could exploit.” Thane looks overhead, then through a few office windows. “Fourteen. Almost double since I was here ten years ago.”

“That’s nothing,” Kasumi replies. “If you’re not out to kill anyone, you can keep a low profile there on that catwalk, and up by those rafters.” She points at the different locations. “Depending on your killing method you could make a decent getaway. If you’re in it for the killing, anyway.”

“See those cables overhead?” Garrus points. “There’s over twenty separate requisition orders to have those fixed, but no one ever does a damn thing about them. Fry those, and you can jam communications for a week.”

“Sixteen, then. Perhaps we could compare notes,” Thane replies.

I roll my eyes. _Traveling with the galaxy’s finest_. “Five steps in, and you guys are already trying to case the place. The only good thing I heard was keeping a low profile. Thane, what can you tell me about your son’s situation? Someone contracted him to assassinate someone, but do we know who?”

“Not yet, but he was last seen with one of my old contacts, Mouse.”

“You mean that little whelp was your contact?” Garrus says, then laughs for the first time since we docked. Maybe longer. “Shepard you’re gonna love this. This kid almost got busted for selling a VI of you. They couldn’t nail him then because you were declared dead at the time of distribution. Even though it was clear he had it earlier, it’s not illegal if the avatar is dead.”

“What the fuck?” I wince. “There’s a _VI_ of me? What the hell does it say?”

“One of my favorites was deleting files. ‘I delete data like you on the way to real errors.’” His impression of my voice is too chirpy than I’d like, but I have to stifle a laugh all the same.

“That’s a little daunting, siha.” Thane gives me a playful smile.

“I don’t sound like that, do I?” I ask him. “And I only said that once, and Darius was a sexist piece of shit. Wait… how do you even know this? Do you _have_ a copy?” I turn back to Garrus, shocked.

“Thane, I don’t know the last time you’ve seen Mouse, but when I was on the beat he usually hung out near Dark Star,” he says instead, looking over my head at the drell and winking at Kasumi.

“Noted. That’s where we should head, then,” Thane replies, and swear if he isn’t smirking too.

Mutiny. All of them.

**~*~**

We head to Dark Star, and sure as day we see our target. Mouse turns out to be a stubborn, shrimpy little thing, slight of frame from of years of poverty. After a boot to the neck, he spills out who hired Kolyat, Thane’s son. Luckily we also find out the target; some turian politician running for ward representative. A ‘bare-faced’ racist as Garrus puts it.

“What the hell does that mean?” I ask as we head toward the campaign rally.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed turian colony markings?” Garrus replies, gesturing to his face. “Bare-faced means exactly that. Since the Unification War, most turians wear their colors. It’s tradition. If you don’t, you’re no better than politicians like Udina.”

“But wait,” I remark. “You said you were born on Palaven. What are your markings?”

“Palaven.” And he flicks his mandibles at me. “By the time we signed the treaty, home-worlders were wearing designs like this in protest. Patriotism back then, but these days people see it as you taking a stance and sticking to it. Hence ‘bare-faced’ means ‘lying scum.’”

“Got it,” I nod. “So we’re looking for one of the few turians in the galaxy without face paint, likely spouting off anti-human rhetoric. Let’s see what else this asshole has done.”

I open an interface Liara installed on my omni-tool. Not exactly the same access worthy of the Shadow Broker, but only an insane person needs that much data. _Or patient._ Joram Talid, an anti-human turian politician. Linked to several counts of extortion, specifically human-run businesses across the Citadel. One such business was owned by Elias Kelham, the crime syndicate leader who ordered the hit. The business was a ‘private room rental,’ a front for seedier crimes going on both in and out the club.

Charming.

“Why are we doing this again? The universe doesn’t need any of these assholes.” I say.

“We’re not doing this for them,” Thane admonishes. “We’re doing this for my son. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. If he takes a life… I don’t think he would ever find balance again.” He looks around the area as more people gather to watch the rally.

“Well, only idiots try anything in a crowd this big,” I comment. “Though the number of times a politician got killed mid-speech says we’ll never run out of idiots. Let’s fan out. All eyes on this guy, see where he goes.”

They nod, and Kasumi shimmers out of view. Garrus, in turian plainclothes, heads into the crowd. Thane walks away from us without a glance back, and in an instant seems to disappear. I look around, then look up.

That catwalk is as good an idea as any.

I head towards the second level and wait. The only traffic up here is a keeper, one of the weird bug-like inhabitants of the Citadel. The unofficial custodians disintegrate into a pulpy mass if harassed, so it’s illegal to interfere with them. Plus, they can’t speak so they make great witnesses. From here I have a clear view of the rally and the target. I take a seat, leaning against the railing and let my feet dangle. This is going to be awhile.

Luckily his speeches are short – for a politician. But the amount of dog-whistle sentiments he spouts is setting me on edge, having me wonder if it’s worth the trouble keeping this guy alive.

The rally ends, and he’s on the move. He heads toward a nightclub, flanked by a couple of krogan bodyguards. I hoist myself back up and look for a way in while keeping my vantage point. I check around and nothing, nothing… Wait. Service entrance for the club. Fucking aces.

“He’s in the club. Relay your positions,” I say before I head into the entrance. I get back coordinates from each of them. Kasumi’s the only one who still has visual, the others are posted at likely routes. So far so good.

The entrance leads to the club’s storage room, with a fire exit across the other side. As I head towards it, I hear a slight scuffling sound. Out from behind some shelves, a startled kid comes out, no more than eighteen and tamping out a cigarette. He looks at me confused as hell.

“You’re not gonna fire m… Hey! You’re not supposed to be back here! Who are you?”

I fight the urge to deck him. Kid’s done nothing wrong.

_Make something up._

“ _You’re_ not supposed to be back here! What are you, living under a rock? This place might blow any second! I’m trying to save your damn life!” I stare him down for effect.

“W-What?” His eyes shoot up like rockets.

“Get the fuck out of here, kid!”

He hesitates for half a second, then scrambles towards the exit. I take in the scene before letting out a chuckle.

“Still terrorizing people with bomb threats, Shepard?” Garrus says over the private comm. I forgot when leaving it on for him became second nature.

“You should try it one day,” I reply. “It never gets old.”

“I’m sure. You’re not missing much. He’s got his krogan to shake down the club owner while he harasses the dancers. More reasons to love this guy,” he drawls. “No sign of Thane’s kid yet.”

“Thane, is it? Sounds like you made some progress.” I stride across the room, pocketing the kid’s chit on the way.

“Whatever you say, ‘siha.’” Something in his voice drops out enough that I tap my comm.

_Did I hit a nerve or something?_

I disable the alarm for the fire escape door, and exit to another catwalk. From here I get visual on the turian and the asari stripper he’s hassling. I scan my area for the kid. Just more keepers.

The asari lets out a shout, then storms off. Talid signals, and his krogan flank him once more. I follow alongside as he exits the club from a back entrance, towards the eight hundred blocks. He should be coming up on Thane’s position soon. Still no visual on Kolyat…

“Shepard!” Thane hisses. “I see him! Get to my location!”

I run across the catwalk and leap off, bracing for impact. I land hard on my shoulder and scramble up, just in time for Garrus to help me to my feet. I nod, and we run towards Thane. We reach the entranceway only to come upon a scene no father should ever live through. Kolyat, a blue-tinged drell holds a pistol to the turian’s head execution style. I don’t have drell facial cues down yet, but the fear in his eyes seems pretty universal. Thane holds a gun to Kolyat, his son. His son, and the look of pain on his face is obvious.

I hear sirens in the distance, and it’s only then that I notice the two dead krogan lying near the apartment entrance. I gotta get a look at this kid’s gun before all this is over. Unless…

Just where the hell was Kasumi anyway?

“All these years? Ten years, and you finally decide to show your face?” The kid is pissed, and for a second I’m not sure if he even remembers his target.

“Kolyat. Please, turn away from this,” Thane pleads.

Talid snorts. “Listen drell, we can work something out. Is it credits you want? Women?” He pauses. “Men?”

“Why the hell should I turn away?” the kid shouts, and he’s flailing that gun around too much, like he doesn’t care who’s eye he’s going to put out. “You left us for _years_ doing the same damn thing! What makes it ok for you? You _left_ us! Even when Mom died, you were just gone!”

“Drop the gun, kid,” I say wearily, rolling my shoulder back. “You don’t wanna do this.”

_This is turning into a goddamn mess._

“You come any closer and he’s dead, hear me!?” The pistol trembles slightly as his eyes dart to me, then back to Thane. I feel a small breeze past my left arm.

_There you are._

“Do what the human bitch says, drell,” the turian sneers. “You do, and I’ll make life a lot less hard for you.”

I drum my fingers against my forehead in a short pattern, then draw my own Phalanx. “Kolyat, you’ve got a lot to learn in this world. First lesson.”

I fire.

“Take hostages someone’s gonna miss. Do it, Kasumi.”

She uncloaks behind the kid and makes short work of disarming him. Poor thing starts babbling about how I could’ve done that, woe is me, and Christ almighty he won’t just stow it. I shrug at Thane and Garrus, both giving me incredulous looks.

“Before either of you start up, he was a criminal,” I say tersely. “Isn’t that enough these days?”

“It is, though your sense of protocol’s never really been in step with C-SEC.”

I turn at the new voice, and see Bailey flanked by two turian C-SEC officers. The look on his face is admirably neutral considering the fresh coat of paint on the ground.

“Evening, Bailey,” I say nonchalantly. “Were you in the neighborhood?”

“Cute,” he says, mouth drawn to the thinnest line known to Man. “How about we all get to the station, and you can tell me about the little block party going on here. Mettius, Serlio, secure the scene. I’ll meet you back at the station.”

I exchange another look at Thane and Garrus. “Back to the station we go, boys.” I look behind me, and only see Kolyat. I sneak a glance up before walking out the apartment.

Of course. Rafters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took longer for Shepard to make a bad drawing of the Normandy than if she just filled out the appropriate forms.


	25. To Thine Own Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus fulfill a promise.

**Shepard**

We arrive at the Zakara Ward C-SEC station with Captain Bailey as our escort. He helped with getting my identity back before, so I pray to God he’s not already tired of my ass.

Thane and Garrus follow me in the building, labeled as key witnesses to the incident. We wait for what seems like hours in the populated corridor. I spot Bailey as he comes out of a back room, in a heated discussion with a turian officer. When the other guy storms away, I approach Bailey.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” I start. “But I thought we were gonna answer a few questions, then go.”

“No, nothing you’d need to worry about. That guy your son was after,” he points at Thane, “was making life hell around here. Real pain in the ass. Some of the old guard doesn’t trust Spectres getting involved in legal affairs,” his eyes shift back to me, “but the way I see it the less paperwork we have to fill out to get rid of an asshole like that, the better. Some don’t see it my way.”

I glance at Thane uneasily. He cocks his head at me in reassurance. “So what happens to Kolyat?” I ask.

“Where to even start,” Bailey sighs. “Right now it looks messy. As a Spectre, and given the evidence against Talid, you were not technically acting outside of regulations. You say the word ‘classified,’ and we wouldn’t be able to touch you. That must sound familiar,” he says, giving Garrus a pointed look.

Garrus makes a sharp clacking sound and folds his arms.

“As for the kid,” Bailey continues. “I walked in on a scene where you pulled the trigger, but my gut tells me that kid stashed the gun somewhere. Whatever magic you pulled off there baffled the hell out of my men. Either way, forensics with your gun don’t match with those dead krogan. That points to the kid any way you look at it.”

_Good looking out, Kasumi._

“Ok,” I say slowly. “It sounds like you want to press charges. Against some _kid_ you don’t have evidence against. Is there no other option? We went there to try to _stop_ him.”

“And you did it by killing the very target he was after,” the officer grouses. “No, pressing charges wouldn’t do a damn thing anyway. Y’see, Kolyat dropped a real familiar name around here.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Elias Kelham ordered the hit. He’s the same person who’s been ‘donating’ to the Officer’s Ball for the past three years.”

_Of fucking course._

“So you’ve been taking bribes from this asshole. And since Talid is dead anyway, I’m sure he’s feeling pretty damn grateful.” I lean on the captain’s desk. “Look, I don’t care what that scumbag is to you but he stays away from Kolyat, alright? Can he go in and talk to him yet?” I gesture to Thane.

“Yeah. He’s right in that interrogation room.”

Thane nods, and leaves without another word. Garrus tenses as I watch him go, and for the life of me I still can’t understand why. I give him a questioning look, but he’s in full stick up his ass mode. He draws his mandibles tight against his face, an expression I only see when he’s really pissed.

“There was a rash of bad people going off the grid about ten years back, Shepard,” Bailey’s voice snaps me back to attention. “A drell was a prime suspect. We don’t get too many here on the Citadel. We never caught him.” He gives me a carefully neutral look. “Your friend seems like a natural handling that gun.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Bad people from ten years ago? C’mon, that’s hardly priority.”

“Maybe not to you, but it would put us back in the black for the first time in five years. It’s not like I can wave a magic Spectre wand and make it all go away.”

I smirk. “Listen Bailey, the only drell I know are the dying father on a very important mission with me, and the son he’s trying to save from himself. We need to work something out for the kid. Community service, maybe. Or an informant.”

And just like that I see the gears turn in his head. He leans back in his chair and gives me an easy smile. “I think we can come up with something. Now, is there anything else you need from me? I got a feeling they’re gonna be in there for a while,” he nods to the interrogation room.

“As a matter of fact, there is one other thing.” I flick my head back to Garrus. Still pissy-looking, but he steps forwarding, seemingly willing to talk.

“I want to get some information on Fade. Ever heard of him?” he asks.

“You mean the other biggest pain in my ass?” Bailey mutters, and I wonder how he sits with so many of them. “That slippery son of a bitch has been a menace, and stopping him’s been pointless. He makes criminals disappear and I don’t know how he does it. He’s either found a way to bypass our networks or he’s working from the inside.” He pauses for a second and looks at us thoughtfully. “But… if you were willing to do something about it, we might get in the black after all. You’re outside of C-SEC, maybe you can nail his ass.”

“Do you have anything at all on him?” Garrus presses, voice straining.

Bailey types on his console. “We were able to track down some reps that work over in the storage yards across from Blamps Lamps. You can question them. Maybe with a little less shooting.”

I grin and cock a brow. “Just for you, I’ll give it my best shot.”  


**Garrus**

“So. Which one of you wants to disappear?”

The volus in front of us stands flanked by two krogan mercenaries. Already a telling sign of corruption. Typically, volus only work with turians since they’re our clients. We give them protection, they give us financial backing. The arrangement benefited both sides for centuries, but I always find a couple that work outside the norm. It never goes well for them.

At no more than a meter tall, this guy has to look up at me, at Shepard, and well, everyone in the room. That these types have the guts to go rogue almost makes me admire them.

Almost.

“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid,” I respond, drawing up my full height. “I need someone to reappear.”

“Ah… that’s not the service we provide.”

“Don’t be coy,” I snarl. I pull out a pistol and aim it at the volus. I probably won’t shoot him, but he doesn’t know that. Suit ruptures are visceral, but these guys are even nastier business. Quarians get infected. Volus suits are hyper-pressurized; one bullet, and there’s a mess no one deserves to witness.

“Damn it. Quick… shoot them! Shoot them, you lumbering mountains!”

Shepard draws her own pistol, and quicker than clockwork the lumbering mountains are mounds on the floor.

“Too slow, buddy.” Shepard holsters her gun and crouches to her knee in one fluid motion. “In the interest of not pissing off the nice people with guns, why don’t you spare us the song and dance?” She flashes a menacing smile.

“Wait! I’m not Fade!” He holds up his arms in mercy.

She turns back and gives me a lopsided smile, then stands back up. Yeah, yeah Shepard. Of course Fade would send a contact instead of showing up himself.

He begins to pace. “Harkin’s in the Factory District. He works out of an abandoned prefab foundry with Blue Suns. He pays them a lot of money; says they keep him safe.”

I grumble inwardly. This entire galaxy loves throwing these hired guns my way. First Sidonis sold us out to them, then they ruin my face, and now they’re standing between me and that washed up alcoholic.

“Safe.” I let out a harsh laugh. “We’ll see just how safe that bastard is by the time I’m done with him.”

“Harkin. You mean that pisspot excuse of a man is _Fade_? The only thing he seemed good at was wasting good booze and pissing me off,” Shepard spits. “Since when did he get competent?”

The volus seems happy to answer, though I doubt she was really asking for an explanation. “He was fired from C-SEC, but he used his knowledge of the systems to help a few people disappear. Then he made himself disappear. And Fade was born.”

I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still the only one who knows how to get to Sidonis. I’ve got a good idea of the area. We can get there in fifteen.”

“What a fucking day, and to top it with seeing that degenerate piece of shit. If ever there’s a guy that needs a kick in the throat.” Shepard heads toward the transports, then looks back at the volus. “Hey. You’re about to be unemployed if you gave us good intel, or dead if you gave us bad. Figure your shit out and get out of here.” She looks at me, brown eyes somber. “You ready, Garrus?”

“Right behind you.”

**~*~**

Factories are no more fun to fight through than hospitals, but take what’s given. I line up shots in a steady tempo, hearing the beats from guns firing, armor breaking, bodies dropping. Battle’s always been a steady pulse, as familiar as a heartbeat. And like the heart, when it all stops… what else is there? I think back to that damn bridge, how that rhythm never stopped until I nearly died.

Maybe I should have.

What made my life so much more important than any of theirs? I line up another shot, watching as Shepard slams another merc to the ground. In truth she shouldn’t exist either. And by the way she’s fighting, maybe she knows that. Two displaced people, tying up loose ends before throwing ourselves to the galaxy.

I shake off the thought. Right now I’m here for Harkin. Anything else I’ll deal with later.

 Shepard peers through an office window and signals me. I head in towards the other side as she goes in the first entrance. I keep out of sight and wait for the scuffling to get closer. Closer…

I pivot and swing the butt of my rifle upward. Harkin stumbles backward, face covered in blood from the nose down. I slam him against the wall. He breathes in heavy ragged gulps, and all I can smell on him is alcohol and cigarettes. This pathetic excuse. I hated C-SEC and did something about it. This one. This man was already dirty before. But now…

“Fade, huh? Long time no see.”

He struggles against my arm, face warped into an ugly, bloody grimace. “C’mon, Garrus,” he chokes out. “I thought we were buddies. We can work this out, right?”

“Buddies? Sure, Harkin. Let’s get nice and friendly.” I press harder. “I need to find someone you made disappear.” I take the pressure off him and step back, hand on my pistol.

“Sounds like we each have something the other one wants, then,” Harkin sneers, nursing his neck.

My knee greets his stomach, one of those universal weak spots. He doubles over on the floor, groaning like he’s been shot. He should know I can easily do a lot worse.

Shepard clicks her tongue. “Harkin, apparently I gotta play the good cop in this. Instead of whining on the floor like a piece of shit, why don’t you stop being coy and tell us what we want to know?”

He spits blood off to the side, and slowly raises himself to his feet. “Maybe,” he says, wiping the side of his mouth. “But I still haven’t heard what you want. I’m gonna need a little more information.”

“Lantar Sidonis,” I growl, the name feeling like ash in my mouth. “Turian male, about a few–”

“I know who he is, and you’re not learning a damn thing from me. Leaks like that are bad for business.” The ex-cop leans against the wall and folds his arms, thoroughly convinced he has a say in the matter. Just as Shepard opens her mouth, I take matters into my own hand.

I reach for his shoulder, and deftly throw him to the ground. I press my foot against his neck, just enough to pin him. “How’s this for business? How does a broken neck sound?” I press a little harder.

“Gah! Alright, alright. Get off me!”

I don’t lighten my hold just yet. I want this bastard to feel it, really feel it for helping the man who betrayed me. I feel Shepard grab my arm, and when I turn she’s glaring at _me_. As if no more than a few hours ago _her_ boot wasn’t pressed against someone’s neck.

I let up and snatch my arm from her, barely missing the look of shock on her face.

Harkin sits up, rubbing his neck and stares up at me. “Terminus really changed you, huh Garrus?”

It was never really the Terminus that changed me, was it? Not really, at least not the important things. “I’m still me,” I say out loud. “Now arrange a meeting.”

He gets up and goes to a console. I barely hear the conversation, rage drowning out any other sound. I’ll finally be able to end this, and put them to rest. It could have been so much sooner if this bastard Harkin didn’t interfere. He’s just as much a coward. It’s only fair…

I don’t notice my hand until I feel the weight of my pistol. Harkin ends the call and comes back towards me, relaying information that sounds more and more like white noise. Orbital Lounge, public place, lots of foot traffic. I’ll figure something out. It doesn’t matter.

“So if our business is done,” Harkin says, inching towards the door.

Something primal erupts from me. “I don’t think so,” I snap. “There was never any love lost between us, but you’re a criminal now, Harkin.”

I raise the pistol to his knee, another human weak point I learned. The scream drowns out everything, my thoughts, the white noise. I holster the gun and shrug my shoulder at Shepard. “It’ll give C-SEC a blood trail.”

She gapes and me, then shrugs and heads toward Harkin. “Quit your screaming,” she hisses as she extracts data from his omni-tool. “For all the times you hit on me, I’d have done worse.”

She rises and beckons toward the door, pointedly not looking at me. “Let’s move.”

**Shepard**

When I first agreed to this, I thought it was another Saleon thing. Some asshole slipped through the cracks, and Garrus needed help. It was easy to justify back then, when someone’s growing parts inside of people. But damn me for looking at the Shadow Broker files. And even then I couldn’t see Garrus as the butcher portrayed in the dossier. Until now.

Archangel was definitely a different guy from the Garrus Vakarian I remember. And Archangel is the one stepping in the car with me, the one who shot Harkin, and the one who’s about to kill an old teammate. On one hand, I don’t blame him. Finding out one of his own betrayed him? And it’s not like I want this guy, whoever he is, to walk away unpunished. But does Garrus really have to pull the trigger? To live with that on his hands?

The drive is silent. Nothing to talk about, nothing I can say to convince him, especially if I don’t know what outcome I want. If I stop him I’m a hypocrite, and if I let him go through with it, he’s a criminal.

Decisions, decisions.

We land the car far from the meeting point. His plan consists of using one of the vantage points Thane pointed out earlier, and sniping him from a distance. I’ll act as bait, keeping Sidonis talking long enough to get him into scope. One of the worst-laid plans yet, but one that keeps Garrus out of sight. We part ways and I head towards the meeting point.

Orbital Lounge was a kitschy human-style diner designed to have a retro-future feel. It’s a favorite among humans and other sentients curious about human culture. When humans were invited to the Citadel, there was a huge resurgence in science fiction culture, and we rereleased classic movies and entertainment. This place was established around the same time as a tongue-in-cheek admittance of our ignorance.

It’s also a good place for a burger, but I didn’t have the stomach for that right now.

Sidonis was rightfully paranoid for picking this place. There’s a crowd as usual; between the chatterfrom customers and the wait staff yelling across countertops, conversations among patrons are oddly private. I bet in his mind, if we were quick we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves, and we can get out of here with no drama.

It’s about ten minutes before I see a turian matching the description comes up. Silvery-grey carapace, similar to Garrus, but with lavender colony markings along each mandible. And even if I didn’t have daily practice reading turian expressions, the guy in front of me looks fucking terrified.

When he glances my way, I wave him down. Here goes. I double-check that the private comm is turned on, and meet the turian halfway.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says, eyes darting around the area. He smells cloying from dextro booze even from here.

“Move to the left, you’re in my shot,” Garrus says from the comm.

And it would be so easy, wouldn’t it? For a second, Liara’s indifferent face on Azure flashes through my mind.

_No. There’s got to at least be something more to this._

“Sidonis,” I say, folding my arms. “Let’s hope you don’t make me regret this.”

“Don’t _ever_ say that name out loud!” He looks around in a panic. “I thought I hired professionals.”

“Sorry, but that’s not what this is. I’m a friend of Garrus,” I say plainly, looking at the petrified man square in the eyes. “He wants you dead, but seeing you, I’m not so sure.” _Hell, I’m not even sure if I’m doing the right thing here._

“What the fu… Is this some kind of joke to you?” The turian frantically looks up along the railings, likely for sniper nests from the way he peers upward.

_Guess he really did work with him._

“Dammit, Shepard!” Garrus mutters over the comm. “What the hell are you doing!? If he moves, I’m taking the shot!”

“Y-you’re not kidding,” Sidonis says, staring at me hard. “Shit, you’re not kidding. Screw this. Tell Garrus I had my own problems.” He backs away, ready to bolt.

I grab his arm. “Don’t move,” I hiss. “I’m the only fucking thing between you and a bullet to the brain right now. That’s not making anyone here happy.”

“Fuck,” he sighs. He chances one last glance over my shoulder before staying directly in front of me. “Look. I didn’t want to. They didn’t give me a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Garrus growls. “Even cowards like him.”

“They got to me,” Sidonis continues. “Said they’d kill me if I didn’t help, that they’d make it worse for the rest. What was I supposed to do?”

“He knew what he was signing on for. Every damn one of them knew the risks. Move out of my way, Shepard.”

I take in a deep breath. They both have a point. “That’s it?” I ask. “Sounds like you were just trying to save yourself.”

His head hangs low. “I know. I know what I did. They’re dead anyway. They died and… and it’s my fault.” He looks back at me, mandibles trembling. “I’ve had to live with that. I wake up every night sick to my stomach. Their faces…haunting me. Accusing me.”

“Better that than seeing them bleed out on your watch.” Garrus spits. “Why don’t you ask him what those faces looked like when I found them? Ask him if he knows they tortured them. Let me take the shot.”

_Christ, Garrus._

“I’m already a dead man,” the turian says quietly. “Some days… I keep running, but I just want it to be over. Tell him… Tell Garrus I’m sorry.” He walks out of my cover and leans against a rail, wincing at a bullet that I think he _wants_ to come.

A better me would plead for him, for both of them. In all honesty if the same thing happened in the Alliance, he’d be court martialed at best, likely even executed. And from the way he’s flinched up, _waiting_ for it, seems like the Hierarchy has that in common. And he’s in pain. He’s in pain and _wants_ to die.

But the baser part of me is livid. Only now he’s ready to die, when he could have died for his crew instead. Sacrificing self for the greater good is as turian as it comes. As _Alliance_ as it comes. And he failed.

“I can’t help you Sidonis,” I hear myself say. “I wish I could. But maybe I can help him.”

I draw my pistol. Before he sees what’s coming, I hear the tiny, imperceptible buzz from the trigger. An instant later, I feel the kickback. He stumbles back, blue blood running down between his eyes.

He falls.

“It’s done, Vakarian. Report back to the ship. I’ve got a mess to clean up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orbital Lounge used to have a Jetson's-themed setting, but the Hanna-Barbara estate issued a Cease-and-Desist. They were able to keep the furniture because the Asari IP, "The Amazing Maiden Water Squad" invested in the restaurant.


	26. Setting the Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus deal with the aftermath.

**Garrus**

She cut off the comm and ignored all output after that. No sorry, no ‘I should go,’ nothing more than a curt dismissal. She took the shot. She took the shot that was mine to take. She stole it from me, and I’m too keyed up to feel the vindication. It’s over, but damn her. That wasn’t…

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

In the end the traitor is dead as planned, but damn if I know what she was trying to prove with that stunt. He told his story a long time ago, the minute he went off-world with a new identity. The universe was better off.

But she took it out of my hands. She’s _never_ done that. Since I’ve known her, she told me to think for myself. _Act_ for myself. This… This is condescending. He’s dead, but it was _my_ burden, not hers. Does she think she’s _helping_?

I’m in no mood to go to the ship yet, nor do I care to even see Shepard anytime soon. The more I think about it, think about her, I grow angrier. She stood in my way, made him talk about it when there was nothing to talk about. Or Thane’s matter, conveniently urgent, let’s all go ‘save’ his son from himself. Never mind that the kid can choose whatever path he desires. Make _him_ live with the consequences. But she stepped in and killed Talid, and for what? To prove a point?

Come to think of it, she did the same thing with me. What was the point of her shooting him?

I pack away my gun and head to Flux, one of the many haunts frequented on our hunt for Saren. Next shift can wait. Besides, I need just about anything to take my mind off today. No more thinking, no more feeling.

Once there, I head straight to the end of the bar. This place hasn’t changed a bit since I left. The last time I stepped foot into Flux had to have been a week or so after she died. Numb was about all I could feel when I found out about her death, and if I thought about it for too long I wound up here. Fitting in a way that I end up here again.

I signal the bartender. On the bright side it’s finally done. In another life, I would probably share a drink or two with my team. It was something I never did enough with them, to be honest. I was always so professional. Strict. My father would’ve been proud. Well, if he overlooked the vigilantism. I don’t think I ever bonded with them on a personal level, save for Weaver, Sidonis and maybe Butler. For all that I needed to set things right, the loss… I expected to feel more from avenging them.

The bartender, a human girl saunters up. “What can I get you, sweetie?”

“Just a brandy for me. No ice,” I reply, head bowed to the counter.

“Make that two, and he’s buying,” a familiar voice warbles. “But I’ll need a straw.”

“Hey there Tali,” I say to the tiny quarian. “Taking advantage of shore leave?”

“Hardly. The cheerleader bosh’tet and I have been dealing with the shield and fuel upgrades.” She turns her head toward me, eyes glowing through her mask. “The Citadel is beautiful and welcomes everyone in the galaxy, except when they treat you like vermin and call you ‘suit rat’ behind your back,” she finishes with venom. “I came here because it’s got the best music and memories. That and their liquor is worth a damn. What about you?”

“Not quite shore leave for me either. It’s been a long day.” The bartender comes back with our drinks, and I watch with mild curiosity as Tali fits the straw into her suit. I take a sip and continue. “Ran a few errands with Shepard.”

“Errands, huh?” She waves a hand dismissively.  “That means either you were buying guns or shooting them. This wouldn’t have anything to do with your foul mood earlier, would it?”

“Got me there,” I sigh. “We took care of a favor. You remember me talking about my squad? That’s dealt with now. Now I’m just… trying to figure things out.”

“Oh.” Her head ducks and she fidgets her fingers. “Did… did you, erm, go through with it?” I shrug. “Keelah, I’m sorry.”

“Why? It needed to be done, one way or another.” I down my drink and signal the bartender. “Or what, you think I shouldn’t have either?”

“I... Wait, what do you mean either?” She cocks her head.

“I don’t know. Just a vibe I guess. First Thane, and then when she–” I look around. No one was near us, but I had to be safe. “It seemed like she wasn’t for it. Or something. Who knows with her.”

If I think about it now, I get confused _and_ angry. Why shoot him? And why make him talk?

A loud slurp from Tali destroys my train of thought. “So that’s why you’re sitting here moping? You got what you wanted, Garrus. At least when _your_ squad died, you could point to a reason why besides poor leadership,” she says, pointing at me.

I turn towards her. “Are you talking about Haestrom? Tali, what happened out there, I doubt it was your fau–”

“No. Platitudes won’t work, Garrus. They never do. Honestly, that’s why I still can’t bring myself to write those damn letters, and the longer I wait the more it insults them.” She toys with her almost-empty glass. “Did you…? When they died, how did you do it?”

“Methodically,” I say in a flat tone, turning back to my new drink. “I wish I could say it gets easier, but it doesn’t. If it did, then either too many good people died on your watch, or a part of you died along with them.”

“Maybe.” She sips the rest of her drink, then lets out a sigh. “I always did like the music here. Hell of a pilgrimage back then. After running with you guys they considered me some kind of geth expert.”

I shrug. “Well, you did fight a lot of geth.”

“Sure, but an expert? Leadership?” She makes a sound caught between a choke and a laugh. “Half the time I asked myself ‘what would Shepard do,’ and the other half, ‘what _wouldn’t_ she do?’ And out of that, the only examples I followed were loyalty and makeshift bombs.” She waves her hand. “I don’t know. Whatever she did, I could use some of it.”

I frown at the thought. Right about now, loyal’s not the way I would describe her. “You’ll be fine, Tali. Promise.” I force a grin at her.

Her eyes glow again. “I guess so. We should probably get going soon. ‘Team Dextro’ is on shift in a couple of hours.”

I groan. I still wasn’t quite ready to go back to that ship, but deserting was out of the question. At least I’m not _as_ angry anymore. But that awful numb feeling, like a cold void, threatened my mood. I overstayed my welcome here.

_At least I’ll have new numbers to run when the shields are up and running._

“Yeah. Let’s go,” I say. “Who came up with that name anyway?”

“Kenneth. He’s… growing on me.”

**Shepard**

When a gun discharges in a public place C-Sec typically decides to intervene. I flashed my Spectre status and demanded to be taken only to Bailey, and by the end of the chaos it was the police detail cleaning up the scene. Cleaning up the mess I made.

I decide to push my luck with the man only because he’s already helped me out before tonight. And if I give him the gateway to several other missing criminals, then maybe he can cut me some slack about one more dead body.

“We’re stretched thin enough that taking your story at face value will have to do,” Bailey tells me. “Finding Harkin helped, but it also means we’ll be pursuing a lot of lost leads. But there’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?” I ask. I can feel my jaw clenching.

“Forensics came back normal, except when compared to a couple of eyewitnesses. Their stories point to someone else on the scene somewhere, but surveillance makes it unclear. We had to dismiss the theory.”

“That’s fine,” I say dryly. “I told you what happened, why he’s dead, and brought you Harkin. That’s more than most Spectres would do.”

“Watch your back is all I’m saying. Just because you’re doing right by me, doesn’t mean everyone’ll see it that way. And that’s just from one day.” Just as he says this, Thane comes out of an office, datapad in hand. “Well, speak of the devil. You finished, Krios?”

“Yes. I didn’t expect you to be here, siha.” Thane smiles, and for all that his eyes are black, there’s a warmth in them now. “I hope I didn’t keep you this whole time.”

“Not at all. Just helping a friend catch a guy that slipped through the cracks.” I look pointedly at Bailey, who nods and gives a small smile. “I’m probably gonna head back to the ship, but since you haven’t been here in a while you should see the sights.”

“That would be amenable. But I would enjoy the company.”

Part of me doesn’t mind the idea of touring the Citadel with Thane. But while he usually provided good company, all I want now is a change of clothes, anything not stained up with blue. I need time to take my mind off of everything that’s happened.

“Tomorrow,” I promise. “Today’s been a bag of smashed asshole, and I need the break. But tomorrow we’ll go nuts and dance the night away.”

“Dance crazy,” he replies with a soft smile. “Yes. Until then, siha,” he says, patting my shoulder.

As I leave the station, I get a ping. I check my omni-tool and see a message from Kasumi.

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

_What’s your dress size?_

_KG_

**_=-=-=-=-=-=-=_ **

_Questions that can never end well._ At least I know where she’s been all this time.

I answer Kasumi, telling her my size and that I hope she had as much taste in clothing as she did in fine art. She replies with an image of the Victory Boogie Woogie and tells me to relax. Is… is that on my fucking ship?

I think I feel my eye twitch.

I head back to the ship and back to my cabin, ready to end today. It’s not like me to feel conflicted about something trivial. A man needed to go. When someone needs to die, don’t dwell over it. No grey areas, especially when it comes to justice or following orders. So why one life suddenly mattered more than any of the others I took out today alone…

But I guess it was never Sidonis’ life that mattered to me, now was it?

I finish changing, and send him a message. We still had that eggshell policy. Time to enforce it.  


**Garrus**

She wanted to talk after shift so here I am, meeting her at the bar. I head inside, ready to face the music. Dreading what might come out of my mouth. Or hers.

“Y’know, in all the time we’ve known each other, you never asked me about Torfan.”

Shepard lounges on the couch in the observation deck, never once turning to see me come in. The vast expanse seems to envelope her already tiny frame. How she can stand to look out the window after getting spaced is beyond me, but she has a way of defying odds. She holds a glass of some shock-pink drink to her temple, a Salty Varren if I remember Chambers correctly. The drink sits in her hand amid a field of dark energy.

I don’t answer, still not trusting myself to say anything rational. I make my way to the wet bar and rummage for something to steady my nerves. It turns out while we were gunning down everyone at the Citadel, she made sure they restocked the bar with high-grade turian liquor and mixers.  That was Shepard for you. Occasionally sentimental, knowing the difference between swill and the good stuff, and not relying on a price tag to tell her. In a way, she’s daring the Illusive Man or Miranda to confront her about what Cerberus funded. Pro-human corporation, and she spends it all on making the alien crew happy. It makes me feel selfish in comparison.

She picks now to bring up that mission. The Butcher of Torfan, wherein she and her squad killed, some say slaughtered surrendering batarian slavers. Not the friendliest reputation, to put it mildly. Reports reached even the Hierarchy, putting Commander Shepard and humanity on the map.

And while the action made turians admit a grudging respect for the woman, it always seemed slightly off from the person I got to know. Even back then she’d show a different side, damn near _friendly_ by military standards. Despite how she handled herself on the battlefield, she did everything she could to make her crew feel welcome. Hell, she’s flitting about the galaxy now helping this band of misfits tie up loose ends.

“I hadn’t expected to live through it. Didn’t know if I wanted to, really.”

I stilled at that. “You had a death wish.”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” she replies, head tilted down. “We went in the tunnels, and Greggs tripped one of the traps. Just like that,” she snaps her fingers, “two people in my squad died. Then another, cave-in. Each person down, and I kept going. Kept thinking ‘I’m next.’ Kyle barking orders until the comms gave out, and every fucking time I heard a scream I kept going, kept thinking ‘I’m next.’” Her grip tightens on her drink. “I wasn’t expecting to live it out and have to deal with it afterwards. It would’ve been a helluva lot easier though.”

She smiles wryly as she tries to levitate the glass. “Instead, a lot of good people died, but not me. By the time we got to the base, the last of us saw what they’d been doing to the slaves and something just...” she lets out a harsh laugh. “I had to make them pay, had to make their lives worth it. Or maybe I needed to prove something. Being who I am, what I am, I always had to get shit done.”

She flicks her head in my direction. Drink in hand, I make my way to the couch. She meets my eyes with a look of concentration, and honestly I can’t tell if it’s meant for me or her biotic trick. It was a common way for kids to maintain control, but this shouldn’t be an issue for a trained soldier. Much less her.

“Now imagine my surprise when I find one of my best friends in this galaxy starting up his own campaign of mistakes and regrets.”

I feel my neck prickle. “Really, Shepard? So now you of all people are judging me?” I ask harshly.

“Maybe a bit, yeah! What the hell were you doing on Omega?” she glares at me. “And when I got there, I was happy to see you but not when you were doing your version of Custer’s Last Stand! And the one thing on your mind is killing some asshole, probably your friend. I know I’m not one to talk, but it wasn’t you, Garrus.”

“When we talked about it, you didn’t seem to object!” I retort. “And if the same thing happened to you, there’d be no talking you out of it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You just know me so well,” she replies, tone derisive. “And I _didn’t_ talk you out of it. Maybe I should’ve. But Garrus, you’re not me. You’re different. You’re better than this.”

“What are you getting at?” I snarl.

She starts pacing. “What I’m _getting_ at,” she answers, tone frustrated, “is that _you_ didn’t used to be a walking war crime! You used to be all about justice and taking action and doing the right thing. That’s what I loved about you! This right here? I don’t know what you call it. Revenge, murder, assisted suicide? I don’t even know anymore, but fuck, we’re killing people out in public now? Shooting kneecaps and shit?”

She stops pacing and pinches her nose. “You’re a better person than this, better than me. You’re supposed to be my conscious, not the other way around. I don’t want you forgetting how to feel.”

I growl at that. What the hell right does she have to judge me? And in the same breath retelling all her great feats of murder. Besides, she’s wrong.

_Isn’t she?_

 “I read about Thralog,” she says softly. “I’m... I’m sorry. For prying.”

I wince. “That wasn’t one of my finer moments.” I still remember it to the day. Catching him, feeling nothing as I shoved red sand in all four of the batarian’s eyes. Leaving the body on the usual corner his runners gathered.

“Yeah no shit. Creative, I’ll give you that. Definitely something I’d have rooted for in a vid. It’s something Archangel would do. But not Garrus.” She looks back down at her drink. “I didn’t know it got that bad. Two years, just…” she sighs. “Gone.”

A long silence stretches between us.

“Look, Shepard,” I start, breaking through the void. “It’s not like I didn’t think about why I needed to kill Sidonus. It was never just revenge, and you knew that the moment he opened his mouth.”

“Enlighten me.” Her eyes pierce through me.

“He was a broken man that was tired of running. A clean death is better than what I saw him become. Before it was more than he deserved, now it’s just about all we could grant him.” I sigh, and stare at my drink for what feels like an eternity.

“In the end you pulled the trigger. It’s dealt with. It was my burden to bear, and you just…” I trail off, waving a useless hand. “It wasn’t like Saleon, Shepard. No absolutes we can cling to and say we did the right thing. And maybe we still did. You saw him. But... you might be right. I think it stopped being about justice a long time ago.” I look back, and she’s staring intently at me as I speak. I hold her gaze a moment longer and swallow hard. “Not just Sidonis, but all of it.”

She goes to the window, glass hovering over the swirl of violet from her hand. Leaning by the rail, she stares out into deep space. The calm lights of the Normandy illuminate her, sharpening the contrasts and turning her brown skin blue. She looks so lost and sad, so unlike herself. In that moment there’s something about her that calls to me, urging to call this debate off and comfort her. But for some reason I can’t. Call it pride, for whatever good it’s done me.

“If what you say is true, that you think it was a mercy. I can try to live with that. It means we can still fix us. Means we can keep each other from going corrupt.” Her voice is too small, too unlike her.

“Trust me, I think he was better off this way.” Something in her words catches me, though. “Us?”

“Yeah.” She turns her head to me slightly. “You _never_ asked me about Torfan.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Exactly. All this time you could’ve, but you just got to know me instead. At least, enough to be here now. I never told you that, and then I…” she pauses, her eyes still transfixed on the stars. “You trust me, at least I think you still do. You’re saying you’d follow me into hell, and that’s not a light thing to say. Not after all the crap handed to me just seeing everyone again. I just hope you’ve got your shit straight, and you don’t have any more death wishes.”

“Shepard...”

“See, I wasn’t afraid of dying at Torfan, but I wasn’t afraid of killing either. And when I got to the end of it, all I could see was red. I wanted them to feel that pain. I didn’t just want them to die, I wanted them to pay. That’s not a proud moment any more than dumping red sand in someone’s eyes. And when I was floating over Alchera, I wasn’t afraid then either.” She laughed and took a sip. “Don’t get me wrong, dying sucked and I don’t recommend it.”

I roll my eyes.

“But when I knew it was it, I stopped struggling. I looked out at this big starry world, and for the first time in ages, hell _ever_ , I could stop fighting. My crew was safe, and I died a soldier’s death saving them, shit mission or not. I went down with my ship like in the old stories.” She makes her way back to the couch. “I gave up. Some hero, right?”

She sets her drink down, and leans in my direction. Big brown eyes meeting mine with a mix of sorrow and something else. “When I woke up, I thought the worst had already happened. Death itself spat me back out, so what’s the point of being afraid? Even working with Cerberus didn’t seem so bad after a while.”

She breaks eye contact with me, and clinches her fist. A faint violet haze pulses across her hand. “But that wouldn’t do, would it?” she scoffs. “It turns out there’s more to fear than death. And more to death than being gone.” Her hand comes up and gently touches my scars. “And I was pretty stupid for thinking otherwise.”

And it hits me harder than any rocket to the face. She really _is_ here, alive. Taking on my problems without a second thought.

“Shepard,” I say, voice strained. My hand comes up to meet hers and I lean into her touch, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And she’s close. So close that I can smell remnants of coffee, gunfire and ozone. No less burned in me than the scars on my face. How did we get here? “Is this… What are we?”

“Clearly a couple of fucked up soldiers, stressed as all hell.” She shrugs but doesn’t move away. A crooked smile passes her face, and for the first time today I feel something other than anger or betrayal. “Fuck it, why the hell not?” she says, almost to herself. “We’re gonna die anyway, right? Let’s see where this goes.” She gets up at that, and flicks me a V and a wink on the way out.

Sentimental, sure. But no one in the galaxy should ever expect Commander Shepard to be romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flux has a pretty decent policy regarding quarians, which is an unspoken reason why the crew frequents the club.


	27. Making Out Like a Bandit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Kasumi go to a party. Garrus thinks about guns.

**Shepard**

Kasumi is more than ready to cash in on this favor. Conveniently timed, since the _Normandy_ still needs the shields installed, and expedited service only shaved off two days. The plan is to hitch a non-conspicuous ride to Bekenstein, infiltrate some rich asshole’s party, and steal a greybox. Until now I didn’t think people did neural crap like that anymore, but apparently Kasumi’s old flame had great cause to. Trapping an entire map of just one memory is already dangerous and prohibitively expensive. Plus, the risk of permanent brain damage and identity theft means mods like that stayed in Black Ops or the black market. And her now dead boyfriend was a little bit of both.

The real punchline to all of this is that Kasumi expects me to look and act the part of a rich criminal celebutant named Alison Gunn. Luckily, the look is easy.

“Damn, Shep! Didn’t know you could walk in heels!” Kasumi beams at me under her hood as I step into the CIC.

“Aww, c’mon is it really a surprise? It’s not like I don’t take shore leave,” I reply. I am sex on legs, if I say so myself. Stiletto heels, little black dress, and make-up that would turn a salarian. Dressed to kill doesn’t cut it. Right now I’m dressed to obliterate.

Kasumi, in a move of surprising efficiency, did her homework. Far be it from me to ask whether she paid for this little number, but the dress has everything. It looks every bit like a trendy black cocktail dress, and matched my style. Simple, sleek lines, plunging neckline and a high collar. With matching jewelry, I look… _pretty_. She then installed a modified kinetic barrier, similar to my tech armor, in the dress itself. To the naked eye it’s mostly hidden, but anyone with ocular implants would see a shimmering lacy pattern that compliments the dress. But that design will help me survive a gunshot or two.

I’m also happy to know that I could bring a sidearm to this shin-dig from hell ‘for protection.’ Which in my experience is slang for ‘shit will go sideways.’

“It’s a nice change from all the cargo pants and tank tops. You should wear stuff like this more often. Look like a woman every now and then.”

“Maybe, but it’d be a little hard to gun down assholes in heels like this. I don’t know how Miranda and Samara do it,” I say with a grin, tying my hair into its usual knot.

“It’s a tactical disadvantage to go anywhere without proper armor and weapons,” Garrus complains, leaning with ease against the railing. He’s trying really hard to look annoyed at the whole display, but working with the guy for this long lets me know he was anything but.

We hadn’t exactly talked much since my poor attempt at clearing the air. The three days so far docked on the Citadel meant plenty of ways to occupy ourselves away from each other. I tell myself that I’m just giving him space. Space worked, right? Give him time to sort out his shit, and try not to panic about propositioning my best friend. The right thing to do is talk about our feelings like normal rational people.

So of course I’m gonna deflect.

“Aww, Grumpy Garrus didn’t get an invite to the big merc party,” I tease. “Don’t act like I’m not deadly even without a hardsuit. I mean, tech armor? Biotics? Killer smile? I should be fine.”

His mandible flicks slightly. “Hmph. Well. I still don’t see why Alison Gunn doesn’t have a body guard.”

“No offense, but a scarred up menace scowling everyone to death isn’t exactly going to blend in,” I say, knocking on his armor. “You’d need a tux or jacket, or those cape things turians wear. Besides, several merc leaders are going to be there. Including me.” I wink at Kasumi. “And _some_ body made a name for themselves fighting mercenaries. Now what was the name of that guy…?”

“Fine,” he drawls. “At least it’s not stealing from registers.” He heads toward the armory, gesturing a turian salute on the way.

“It was a merc front! That’s not stealing!” I yell after him. “It’s rescuing.”

“Low blow, Shep,” Kasumi says, nudging me with her elbow. “And registers? It’s past time we upgrade that.”  


**Garrus**

When I get to the armory, Zaeed and Jacob are already going over the latest mods we grabbed up. The meet-ups became a trend ever since Illium. Go over weapons, trade stories, and try to “suss out” who had the craziest mission, past and present.

Zaeed was usually in the lead, but the Thorian always gave me an edge.

“Glad you could make it, kid. I was just telling Jacob here that I hadn’t seen a weapon like this in ages. Last time was when I was working with the Grim Angels out in the Verge.” Zaeed leans against the mod table and turns a delicate-looking pistol in his hand. “Believe it or not, came up against some krogan using these little peashooters. Killed half my squad.” He hands it to me.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Jacob asks. He’s hunched over the chemical station, carefully mixing thermite paste in a compartment. “Picked that little guy up from a salarian down by lower Bachjret. Called himself Morlan and had a _bunch_ of ancient shit down there. Most of it was junk, but I figure we could mod that one and give it to one of the girls.”

I turn it over in my hand. The manufacture logos faded off, but there’s no mistaking the weight and feel of it in my hands. “Men, you are looking at a nice piece of history. This is a second-gen Brawler, one of Armax’s finest. My father carried a gun just like this back in his C-SEC days. Damn near all of them did back then.”

“Nice. They don’t make em like that anymore. That thing’s light as hell.”

“Makes you wonder what the hell they named it Brawler for,” Zaeed grouses. “Call me old-fashioned, but never name a gun anything that sounds like you’re overcompensating. Makes you look like a goddamn fool when you’re shot all to hell.”

Jacob grins at that. “Is that why you named your gun Jesse? Pick a girly-ass name so whoever gets shot at knows they got punked?”

“You’re not thinking about it right, junior. Women are lethal creatures, and you’ll do well to remember that. Women, death, and taxes. The Holy goddamned Trinity. Always in your life no matter what, whether you want it or not.” He strides over to the rack and picks up an ancient M8 Avenger. “And that, gentlemen, is why there’s always a strong woman by my side.”

I have to laugh at that, and Jacob gives him a wide grin. “Is that what you call Jack? What the hell is _that_ about, man?”

“Ain’t none of your business kid, unless the turian coughs up whatever he and our Commander are dancing around.” He winks at me roguishly.

Heat creeps up my neck. “I… no. Whatever you think is… That’s not…”

“Well I’ll be damned. I’ve lived a long life and never wondered if turians can blush, but I think we found our answer. Haven’t we, Jacob?”

Jacob looks up from his station. “Biometrics don’t lie, but my man’s not acting smug about it like he does his sniping skills. I’m thinking it ain’t happening unless he makes a move.”

Suddenly the new rifle mods seem a lot more interesting right now.

“It’s not like he’d be the first turian to hook up with a human,” Zaeed comments. “Hell, that asshole Gavorn down on Omega ran with human men every night. Don’t much see the appeal, and hell if I want to know any details.” He sets his relic back on the rack and gives me a level look. “But that crazy bint is half turian herself. If you want a strong woman by your side, can’t do any better than her.”

“True enough,” Jacob agrees.

“Look, I appreciate the advice,” I start. “I just…” And for whatever reason, I open up. “What the hell are human women, anyway? Turians are a lot more upfront. About everything! Where you stand with a girl, you just know. I don’t know what kind of courtship rituals you people–”

“Hahahaha, courtship rituals? I see that stick up your ass hasn’t left,” a voice says over the comm.

“What the hell, Joker? How long have you been listening?” I look up.

“About as long as you guys haven’t been inviting me. Garrus, if you _really_ wanna impress the Commander, I’ve got just the thing coming your way.”

_This just went from bad to worse._

“Officer Vakarian, I have taken the liberty of siphoning through Mr. Moreau’s collection for relevant source material,” EDI interjects. “However, the download size will be one petabyte of data. Do I have your authorization to proceed?”

“What? EDI no, some of that’s my personal stash.” Joker cuts off the comm abruptly.

“For the record mates,” Zaeed says, clearly pleased. “Nothing to tell with me and Jack. Once you get my age, you want women, not girls. The little demon down there’s got a long way to go. Give me a woman with class, curves, and a story any day of the week.”

 _Just a quick bullet to the head with a turian salute._  
  


**Shepard**

It turns out, sneaking around a party, breaking into a vault filled with priceless relics, and tearing down yet another gunship are all things right up my alley. If I had never called the Alliance my true home, I could almost see going rogue and maybe taking Jack and Kasumi with me. And honestly, this was one of the first times the mission didn’t go completely tits-up, and we made off with what we came for. A good day. Finally.

Kasumi looks down at the greybox, still torn on whether she should honor her lover’s wishes and destroy it. Within those memories lie the same secrets that lead to Keji’s death in the first place. But as I look at her, I realize there’s more in there than just secrets and espionage. His love is in there.

“Were you two happy?” I ask softly.

“Immensely. I mean, I’m still alive of course, but this... he...”

And the more I think about it, I can see why she’s torn. To have an intact version of his memory, back when things were happier. And maybe it’s no better than a photo album, but I get why she’d want to keep it. Would I have wanted a snapshot of all those adventures on the SR-1? Or Kaidan’s voice the night before Ilos?

_Or the feel of rough plates against my hand the other night?_

“You’d be able to see his love for you from his perspective,” I say out loud.

“I... hadn’t thought of it that way. I think… I will keep it, then. Consequences be damned.”

We make our way out of the Kodiak, and drop off our weaponry in the armory. Jacob is nowhere to be found, but the familiar thermite stench still lingers. We recalibrate our omni-tools and clean our pistols in companionable silence.

“Just be careful, Kasumi,” I say finally. “Whatever is in those files is something Keji died for. Don’t be too quick to follow him, and make sure his death was worth it. And keep living, make your own memories.”

“I will, Shep. Don’t worry, I know how to stay off the grid.”

We finish up the cleaning ritual, and I log weapon and armor stats, and chart the repairs needed. We’re doing well so far, but I want to put the team through their paces. We barely made it out of that Collector ship alive. We need to train until we’re gods if we plan on getting out of this alive.

And I plan to now. There’s still too much going on in this galaxy for these people to live for. Handpicked by Cerberus or not, this crew is growing on me. I can’t settle for anything less than victory.

I steal a glance at Kasumi and nod. _She’s grown on me, too_. “True love, eh?” I comment. “Ripped straight from the books I’ll have to borrow.” We make our way back to the elevator and wait.

“Indeed. Though from what I’ve heard, I’m not the only one finding it,” she says, playfully elbowing me.

“What? You talking about that preggers girl down in cargo? Which reminds me, I should transfer her to lighter duty.”

“Shhh no, not that. Don’t be obtuse. You and Garrus? Don’t tell me you aren’t a thing, Shepard.”

I laugh just a little too hard. “No, no no no no no. We’re friends, we’ve been friends for a long time, he doesn’t see me like that. He doesn’t even see _humans_ like that, c’mon.”

“If turian males are remotely like human ones, then he’s got eyes for you. When have you ever seen him so worried about ‘tactical advantages?’”

“All the damn time,” I say dryly.

“Sure, and case in point. The way his eyes roamed, I think he was looking for more than just battlefield advantages. Just saying.” Kasumi is clearly enjoying herself too much. Mutiny, all of them.

“Kinda wanted to be discreet,” I mutter. “Fucking hate living on ships.”

“Now where’s the fun in that? Live a little, Shep.”

“Christ. I come back from the dead to get lip from a Japanese ‘art collector’ about smashing uglies with a turian.” I rub my forehead. “Nothing to tell. If there was, you’d be the fourth to know behind EDI, Joker and Miranda’s spying asses.”

“Whatever you say,” she croons out, and cloaks on her way out of the elevator. Well. I’m on the third level anyway. Maybe the jig really is up.

I’m halfway through the battery corridor before I realize that I’m out of bravado, adrenaline, and fucks all at the same time. This is the worst idea planted in my head yet, and I still haven’t even changed. I halt near the entryway, and try to size up the situation. All I need to do is talk, _talk_ to my Gunnery Chief about perfectly normal logistics. Or abnormal in our case.

 _Christ_.

“Commander Shepard,” EDI pops up. “I have detected that Officer Vakarian is in the Main Battery. Do you want me to inform him of your presence?”

“What. No, please don’t.”

“I have calculated that you have been standing in the same place for approximately 2.68 minutes longer than your average pause before entering the Main Battery. I wished to assure you that the room is occupied.”

“Thanks EDI,” I sigh. “That’ll be all. Please. Oh, and... the conversation’s gonna be private. Kill the feeds.”

“Understood. Logging you out, Commander.” I have a sneaking suspicion that the damn AI spends more processing time on humor than running the ship. No wonder they’re technically illegal.

I step to the door, and walk in with my best swagger. The doors slide as usual, and don’t jam like I half-expect them to. C’mon kiddo, deep breaths, this is just _Garrus,_ calm the fuck down.

“Hey, big guy. Miss me?” I say, trying for the love of God to be casual.

“Shepard.” He turns away from the console and looks me over. “You see any action?”

“Not a lot, but I’m sure you could’ve helped in that department,” I answer, probably a little too seductively.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that when we hit the Collector base,” he responds, turning towards the missile console. “And then after that, take on the Reapers and whoever else we need to deal with.”

I sit on a set of crates and watch as he closes out algorithms. Guy always loved numbers, and I guess with the new shields installed, we had a thousand new scenarios to run.

I scoff. “Do you honestly believe we’ll find something worse than the Reapers?”

“You know I like to prepare for the worst. At least that way I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Besides, we both know that the worst would be all the damn politics and victory tours afterwards. Imagine you and Udina in parades and interviews broadcasted to the entire galaxy.”

“Ugh, when you put it like that, maybe the Collectors aren’t the worst thing. Sign me up for three more suicide missions, please.”

I get a chuff from him. He shuts down more sequences, seemingly absorbed with the task. I hear him mutter something about biometrics before he rolls back his shoulders.

“So...” He turns to look at me, leaning on the console with arms folded. “Rumor has it you took on a gunship again? If you’re out to make that a habit, we're going to have to talk about proper ‘armor.’”

“Oh... oh, you did not just air-quote me, Vakarian.”

“I did,” he says smugly, and his voice dropped, letting his subharmonics all but take over. “Despite seeing you in action, sometimes you need a nice piece of armor to keep you in the game.”

I eye him warily. This guy’s either making fun of me or this is bona fide innuendo. Insufferable turians. He saunters closer to me, mandibles twitching. I stand, rising to the challenge. Ok, definitely innuendo.

“ _This_ little number came reinforced, remember? Only the best for deadly ladies like me.” I tap the bodice of my dress at him in emphasis.

Garrus looms in, ever closer, until he’s less than an arm’s distance. He taps on my dress, near my waist, with a single claw. It lingers there for a moment, drawing tiny circles around that spot. My heart’s pounding through my brain, and my eyes lock on his ice-blue eyes. The contact, that finger’s still there, and a tingle rushes straight through my spine.

“You’re a little overdressed for the battery, wouldn’t you say?” he rumbles.

_Oh. Oh no._

Laughter is a mood-killer. Everyone knows this. So of course I crack up laughing.

“Hahahaha! Garrus, what the hell was that?”

“Spirits guide me from this,” he mutters, craning his head back. “Shepard, stop. Stop laughing! You know what, you’re just as terrible at pick-up lines. ‘We’re gonna die anyway?’ That’s not romantic.”

 _What._ I stop giggling just long enough to speak. “Oh man, I don’t think I heard you over that pile of garbage.”

“You’re horrid,” he repeats, teasingly. “But looks like we both are.” He starts to chuckle as he holds my waist. His grip is firm as he keeps laughing, and there’s a strange sense of ease that we were lacking before. I giggle all over again as it hits me.

_Call it humor therapy._

“Yeah, I guess we are,” I admit. Our laughter dies down and he looks at me with this warmth in his eyes. And I guess it’s yet another tally of things universal across the galaxy. We’re two screw-ups bad at words, but this seems like a pretty good start.

He pulls me in closer and presses his forehead to mine, and I feel rather than hear a steady pulse of subharmonics. We stay like that, and it feels like time shut down, but it’s still too short. He pulls away and looks at me again. Uncertain.

“That uh. That means something to turians. I don’t know if it translates exactly.” He backs away and suddenly seems really interested in his hands. “Are…” he starts. “Are we crazy to be considering this? Shepard, don’t get me wrong, but… If you didn’t… If this… you can find something closer to home.”

With those words I realize he’s bringing up fears from a lifetime ago. We’re years past the First Contact War, but people in the Alliance have long memories with lives to match. Hell, my own mom fought in that war, and I’d bet a thousand credits his dad did too. And I’d bet a thousand more that when he says closer to home, he means more than just humans and turians. He means a time when I bled Alliance so hard I didn’t pursue Kaidan until my life and career was already on the line. A time where Garrus only meant partner and friend, not my rock. Not a lover.

But as Grunt would put it, all that’s big words and big thoughts that maybe don’t need to be said all at once. So I say instead, “I don’t want closer to home. I want this. You’re someone I can trust.”

He closes down the console, and I hear the distinct buzz of the battery door locking. He then saunters back over to me, sub-harmonics drumming low enough for me to feel, but not hear.

“Well. That was… simpler than I was expecting. I can’t say I’m well-versed in all of your customs, but I want to try.” And he’s close. Close enough for me to feel the heat radiate from him. And yet not close enough. “What would be the next move?”

How long were we like this? And how far off the rails of militant comradery did we go? Whatever we had before was just waxing nostalgic. We’re here now, bruised, broken and burned, yet maybe not worse for wear. But right now, looking at this alien, my best friend, I realize I’ve got another reason to stop calling this a suicide mission.

I lean in close and wrap my hands around his neck, whispering, “I think I’ve got some other moves right here.”  
  


**Garrus**

Nothing in my days on the Citadel working side by side with humans prepared me for this. Sure, human customs were learned and observed in my lifetime, and it’s not like I’m a stranger to seeing even Shepard indulge in the rare act of affection.

But here she is, and here I am, getting kissed by a human, as only a human would. The entire act should feel too foreign, too far from the buttons turian women know how to push. Hell, the entire scenario should feel lewd and obscene. Skin too delicate, body too lithe, heat just a tad too cool to the touch. No, humans were never my thing.

But right now, I am definitely into Shepard.

Her lips on my face and cowl are a dizzying array of contradictions. Soft skin, with hard, compact muscles beneath the surface. Light, delicate touches pushed on with a hungry urgency. The sensation overwhelms me, and devolves me to my most primal core.

I lift her onto the console, and she wraps strong legs around my waist. From there, a discordant whirl overcome us, until we become an odd clash of hard lines, soft curves, my persistence, her sweat. We try to puzzle out our respective instincts, clearly screwing up in some moves despite the initial success.

I look at her incredulously as she rubs her hands against my chest. “You look lost as hell,” I say. “Here.”

I grab her wrists and guide them to my neck, unable to think of what came over me. She takes the hint, and dull fingernails and dark energy claw across my skin. I groan in spite of myself, slowly losing control. My own reaction is to press my forehead to hers, breathing in her smell of gunfire, biotic friction, and something else entirely Shepard. My hands remain at her hips and waist, caressing every strange soft curve.

She tilts her head up, not breaking contact, and leans in for a kiss again. This time not as urgent, but no less deep and aggressive. Pulling my head in, she kneads my neck as her lips and tongue explore my mouth, enticing them open. I comply, and am shocked as her tongue finds mine, overwhelming me.

I jerk back and give her a questioning look. “Is that a thing?” I ask.

“Yeah, human thing. You almost had it. Too weird?” she asks, still stroking and kneading my neck. And looking at those soulful questioning eyes how can I refuse?

“Let’s try again,” I murmur, leaning in to replicate her moves.

She holds back, and now it’s my turn to try what she did. I let my tongue reach for her, surprised by her enthusiastic response, and well, my own. Emboldened, I lightly nip at her lower lip, her ear, her neck, letting my fingers trace along her spine. Her entire body shivers, and those strong legs tighten around my waist, setting my body on fire.

In time we come up for air.

“Helluva first move, Shepard,” I say, catching my breath. “That wasn’t quite what I was expecting. I’m not sure what I was expecting... but. Yeah.”

“Yeah. No shit. That was... pretty fun, actually. Weird, but ok. I think.” She’s flushed and looks at me deeply with ‘a shit-eating grin’ on her face. “So... now that we’ve um, _talked_ logistics...”

She slides off the console and straightens her dress and hair out. She paces for a bit, and shakes herself out, similar to what I’ve seen her do before a firefight. She turns to me, keeping a polite distance.

“Garrus, um. Listen. This,” she makes flimsy arm movements between us, “makes me nervous as hell. Which sucks, because I’m admitting it to you of all people.”

I grin. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Hush,” she sighs. “I like you, ok? Like, our minds, they work great together, right? You’re... hell, you’re keeping me sane, for Christ’s sake!” She looks at me completely distraught. “I don’t wanna fuck this up. I don’t wanna do some weird human shit and you get all offended, and I don’t want the same for you.”

“You do weird human things all the time anyway.” I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her waist again. “Don’t worry about offending me. You’d have done it by now.” I chuckle softly and caress the small of her back. “And I don’t know about you, but I think we can build off this.”

“Glad you’re saying build,” she says, reaching up to stroke my non-scared side. “I’m not really the fling type. If we do this, we gotta be in it for all of it. No blowing off steam, no last night of glory. I don’t want to pressure you, it’s just how I’m wired.”

“I’m all in, Shepard. Still here.” I seal the promise with a slight nip at her neck, rewarded with a shiver from her.

“Not fair, sir. But, ok. Let’s give this a shot, right? Why the hell not.” She disengages from me, but looks happier, brighter, even. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

I groan theatrically. “Can you at least pretend not to enjoy your dramatic exits?”

“Not a chance!” she calls back, flicking a V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morlan really thought he was slick when he tried to launch his email campaign, but when he saw the number of unsubscribes within the first hour, he got drunk off of cherry wine at Dark Star.
> 
> He has since repurposed his store to an antique shop, which Garrus finds suitably classy.


	28. The Sky People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus arrive on Aeia.

**Garrus**

Thus began the cadence of our encounters. We had no shortage of skirmishes and missions to accomplish, and true to Tali’s warning, Shepard took this as an opportunity to test the team. She would go on nearly every mission, if not to take point then to fall back and let someone else lead while she observed. More often than not, I’d be assigned that duty, and gradually the tightness in my chest subsided. The terror morphed into triumph.

Teamwork was emphasized time and again until a rhythm developed. She wouldn’t call it a victory until everyone moved with precision that ‘you can cut your teeth with.’ Another of her phrases I’ll never understand. In some ways it became a game. The ‘murder squad’ took to marking tallies in their personal quarters, and after each mission we’d harass the person with the lowest marks.

For me and Shepard, the end of a mission called for an entirely different kind of triumph. We’d squeeze in time between debriefs and mission drops to go over teamwork and practice. Learning the different quirks and follies of our species was... not exactly a smooth transition. Our evolutions did not factor in cross-species liaisons nearly as well as the asari, which led to a lot of false starts. A lot of discouraging, almost-there false starts.

But when I brought up closer to home again, giving her an out that I was reluctant to give, she glared at me and said, “You know me better than that, Vakarian. We survived a mind-controlling plant, I think we can handle ‘Hide-the-Happy.’” After that, followed by a private conversation with Mordin more awkward than all my years as a cadet, we found a few rhythms that worked.

We explored this new ground together. She was no more tethered to Alliance regs anymore as I was to Cerberus, and we both took advantage. Granted, we tried to remain quiet. Discreet. All the words that get scuttlebutt talking. I remember a time when Shepard cared about that sort of thing. When she would stop Ashley from speculating anything about Kaidan, or even Liara. But that same woman nudges me in the shuttle, touches my knee in the mess, and I wonder if I missed something obvious all those years ago.

It became the new normal. Hit a relay, load the shuttle, drop in, load out, fraternize. The tallies got longer, and we got more precise. We’d pick up new tricks along the way, from Tali running new code on our omni-tools, to Jack teaching the biotics some of her brute force, and me teaching Shepard some of mine. The turning point came when I lead the squad into destroying Vido Santiago’s compound, and felt surprise when we got our man and Zaeed fell in line.

If I didn’t know any better, it felt like we might be ready.

It’s that thought that pulls me into her quarters now. I step inside and find her leaning back in her chair typing into a datapad. Several others are scattered about her desk, and her model ships are obscured by a holoscreen showing nothing but a pulsating static. She had to have started right after her shower because her hair is still damp and warm.

“That looks like garbage code,” I tell her. “Don’t tell me you’re encrypting data this late.”

“Mmm,” she hums noncommittally. “Helping Liara translate some Prothean shit. Say, you talk to Jacob a lot. He keeps saying that distress signal is no big deal to me, but he say anything to you?”

“No more than the usual. His father wasn’t the brightest light in his memories, but he doesn’t go into it much. I’m not convinced he even wants to pursue it. It might open up old wounds.”

“I guess. But you don’t mention something like that unless it’s eating at you.” She reaches up and swipes open a new interface. On it is a full dossier of Ronald Taylor, a man that looks remarkably similar to our armory chief. Old employment history, last known whereabouts, and mission logs from the last three ships he served on. This is data C-SEC would either clamor over or shut down completely.

“Where’d you find this?” I ask, wary of the answer.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this whole data mining thing,” she says instead. Her eyes lose their focus in that way I’ve learned to recognize as deep thought. She blinks hard then looks at me for the first time. “Uncharted planet, garden world. Temperature on the cooler side. His dad’s official records are clean, but Jacob’s Cerberus, so who knows. My guess is he’s already dead, and either some rats chewed through the wreck, or some salvagers found the wreck and got stranded.”

“I take it we’ll find out soon enough,” I comment. I stand behind her and run my fingers along her hairline. “In the meantime…” I caress her neck.

“Indeed.” She leans back, and a small smile crosses her face. “EDI, send these coordinates to Joker, and have Jacob meet me in 0800.”

“Understood, Commander.”

**Shepard**

By the time we land on Aeia it’s dusk, with three of the four moons hanging against the night sky. Straight across from us lies the remains of the Hugo Gernsback pitched against the beach. Vegetation overruns the old ship, leaving the remains covered in deep-green foliage and reminds me of Prothean ruins and other wrecks I’ve come across. Nature, no matter the planet, had a way of winning out in the end.

We trudge across the sand until we’re on top of the massive structure. The inside is mostly intact, crash notwithstanding, but looks out of place against the jungle backdrop. I wonder for a second how many wrecks like this are out there, only to be discovered eons later by the planet’s emerging sentients. I shake my head at the thought. I’ll chat with Liara about it one day.

“The distress signal is coming from this area,” Garrus says. “Everyone fan out and start looking for a VI, a beacon, or any sign of life.”

I quirk a smile. He wears leadership well, and seeing him get more comfortable at it makes the mentor in me feel proud, and the woman in me feel… well, distracted now. I shake off the thought and head inside the wreckage. Garrus, Miranda and I went over the roster, and on his recommendation picked a pretty decent ground team. He, Jacob, and Grunt would act as muscle while Mordin and I would check for salvageable tech and survivors. Not exactly the same people I would pick, but he had solid reasoning.

Inside, the remains of the ship sit overgrown, damp, and bare. Where I’d normally expect to see rations, survival gear, or rescue supplies, I see stripped containers, compromised security latches and crudely hacked consoles. From the age and debris accumulated on the open containers, this points to survivors from ten years ago instead of scavengers. And with the vegetation plentiful out here, maybe we’ll catch a lucky break.

“Guys,” I speak into the comm. “Rations and ship supplies are depleted.”

“That’s positive,” Jacob replies.

“Found VI. Checking to see if intact. May provide useful intel.”

“Good find, Mordin. I’ll head to your position.” I make my way to his area, where a fully functional humanoid VI pours out a litany of maintenance reports. “Chatty for a VI,” I comment.

“Can you tell us if there are any survivors?” Jacob asks. I suspect his calm voice is only so the VI can properly interpret the command. The old models usually don’t take panic well.

“Captain Harris Fairchild reported killed following unscheduled suborbital descent,” The VI responds. “First Officer Ronald Taylor promoted in field to acting Captain. The location of the remaining crew of the Hugo Gernsback is unknown. This beacon has been unattended for several maintenance cycles.”

I hum. “That matches up with what I saw inside. Between the rations on board, emergency supplies, and any possible flora and fauna, some of them might stand a chance.” _And as long as they didn’t resort to eating each other, we’re good._

“Toxicology alert,” the VI interrupts, flashing red. “Danger of rapid neural decay. Local flora chemically incompatible with human physiology. Impairment of mental function due to chemical imbalance begins within seven days of ingesting local flora regardless of decontamination or preparation.”

The news hits us like a punch to the gut.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Maybe they figured out a way to ration out what they could, but…”

“Shouldn’t eat local flora. Probably had no choice. Inevitable after that long.” Mordin picks a few leaves off of the beacon and stores it in a sealed container.

“It would certainly explain why there was no signal right away,” Garrus says. “Although why it sent anything now is beyond me. This scratches the surface on what happened, so let’s continue to look for survivors.”

“I see humans,” Grunt rumbles. “They’ve got big sticks and they’re shouting.”

I turn to where Grunt points. Much further along the beach are men in shabby clothing and varying degrees of undress, running straight towards us. True to word, they’re brandishing spears and chanting… ’kill the star men?’

I look at Garrus and Jacob uneasily. “That’s… one hell of a welcome committee.”

**~*~**

Given how aggressive the men are, relief hits me that we manage to not kill anyone. Mordin incapacitates them with some kind of neural spray, and I radio Joker for a quick pick-up. I can’t trust them to be tranqued out in the wild, especially with not knowing what kind of wild was on this rock. We search the area for any other survivors until we stumble upon a makeshift encampment. Judging by the foot traffic and vegetation, this one’s been here for some time.

“These people better be friendly. We need answers about what the hell happened,” Jacob says.

At that moment we see a woman in tattered clothing peek from behind a tube tent. She cautiously approaches me. “You came from sky? You save us?”

I steal a quick glance at Jacob. “Yes. We’re here to help you. Are there any others?”

She looks at Jacob, and her face contorts with rage. “You… not help! You bad man! You wear bad man’s face!” She lunges at him, landing feeble blows.

“Whoa! Calm down, lady!” I shout, grabbing the woman’s arms. “What in the hell?” I look at Jacob while the woman struggles. “You giving off a bad vibe, Taylor?”

He looks shocked at her reaction and shrugs at me. I nod at Mordin, who sprays what I hope is a lighter version of the sedative used on the men. In about three seconds the woman stops fighting.

“Now,” Garrus says in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Can you tell me why he’s a ‘bad man?’”

She studies his face carefully, like she’s never seen a turian before. “He… he wears leader man’s face. Leader thinks for us. I… I can’t find word.” She shakes her head violently. “Bad food. We can’t think right.”

I raise my eyebrow at the crew. Ten years’ worth of neural decay, so we’re lucky to get even this out of her. No telling why she went after Jacob like that, but it at least points to his dad being around. Grunt scents the air and looks down at me.

“Female camp. The only thing I understand on this rock. The men must hunt for them.” He regards the woman with distain. “She speaks nonsense. Worse than the tank.”

I roll my eyes and look at the woman again. “Where are the others? Are there any more like you?”

She nods, and stands back up, beckoning us to come with here. She shoots Jacob another hateful look, but keeps her fists in check. When we enter the encampment, we catch sight of a crude monument in the middle. Stones, wood and scraps of the ship all thatched together with vegetation to make this huge, Crucifix-looking _thing_. The sight of it is unnerving alone, but if I think too hard about the amount of effort to make something this big… what the hell were they doing?

“Guys, they went full native out here,” I say warily. “This is some Lord of the Flies shit.”

“What’s that?” Garrus asks.

“It’s an ancient story about marooned kids,” Jacob says automatically, eyes glued to the monument. “They tried to establish leadership, but kinda went savage in the end. Shepard, they were backed into a corner. They had to eat this food for who knows how long. I just… I just hope that we’re not too late. But we’ve got to evacuate them.”

Another woman approaches us, trailed by the first lady that hit Jacob. “You’re sky people,” she says hopefully. “You can help. I… here.” She hands me an old datapad, an E75 model that’s seen better days. “I can’t make words anymore, but I keep that. I keep from leader.” She ducks her head.

It takes too much tinkering to turn the damn thing on, and looking at the bulky design puts me right back to throwing spears. Instead, I use my omni-tool to extract the data left on the pad, and blow up the findings on a holoscreen. The five of us gather around the screen and read. As I scan through the reports and what I assume is the woman’s personal records, a cold anger washes over me.

It starts out sound and logical. The original captain died, leaving Ronald Taylor in charge. From there he made non-essential crew eat the local food while the officers ate the rations. Given the circumstances it wasn’t unreasonable, but not without risks. Acting officers would be able to signal out, keep the crew alive, survive. I’m not sure if I’d have done it, but It wasn’t unreasonable.

But further in, the sentences become simpler. Female names appear alongside the officer names. Check-ins on ‘good behavior,’ with the words ‘docile’ and ‘innocent’ said more than once. Several months later, the ‘sky caller’ was fixed, and other officer names drop off the reports. Fewer and fewer men mentioned, leaving just… Taylor. And all these women. The beacon was fixed months after the crash, but it’s been ten years.

When I look around, I see more women shuffling near us. When they get closer, all of them look at Jacob with fear and disgust, like he’s a pariah. One of the girls stand in a certain way… she’s fucking pregnant.

I clinch my fists hard and try to control the biotic flair-up I feel coming on. Jacob’s not so lucky. His arm, bathed in blue light comes up and in a swift motion dark energy tears down the monument. Several women scatter. The datapad woman stays with us, fear in her eyes. But there’s defiance behind those eyes as well.

“Where is your leader?” I ask, not even trying to hide the anger in my voice. “We’re here to help, so I need you to gather everyone alive.”

She winces, but nods at me. “Leader man is back beyond trees.” She points, hand trembling. “We only go alone. Never group. Never… never group.”

“Shepard,” Jacob says, looking at the scattered remains of the broken monument. “I’m going back there. I need to find this man and make him answer for what he’s done.”

I take another look at the pregnant woman, and she looks at us with a vacant, unfeeling expression. “Yeah.” I swallow hard. “I’m right there with you.”

 

**Garrus**

Justice is a strange ideal. Back in C-SEC it meant making sure the bad guys were arrested, thrown in jail and served their time. It didn’t always happen that way. A criminal could get a reduced sentence if they moved enough credits, they could bypass the courts with enough red tape, and they could evade arrest altogether if they moved fast enough.

On Omega, or really anywhere in the Terminus, due process just meant having the right gun. Cutting out the middleman will always resonate with me, and cases like now make me understand why. Were I still a C-SEC man, I’d have to prove at least seventeen counts of repeated sexual assault, fourteen counts of murder, countless violations of endangerment, poisoning, and the list goes on.

But I’m a failed vigilante sleeping with a Spectre. Due process always means something a little different to us.

“He’s not even worth my bullets,” Jacob spits. I’ve never seen humans look as angry as Shepard and Jacob do now. I knew he and his father weren’t on good terms, but this goes beyond anything I thought possible.

“He’s worth at least one of mine,” Shepard retorts. “There’s no fucking excuse. There is no fucking excuse for this.” She reaches behind her and pulls out an old pistol, likely salvage from the ship. She shoves it to the older man. “Take this. You’ll need it.”

“This piece of crap is half-charged. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” the man snaps.

“Use it,” Jacob says with a cold venom. “There’s only one monster on this planet anyway.” He turns to Shepard. “We should go. I wish I had found my father here, Shepard. The man I remember was a good man.”

As we walk out of the jungle we hear a single gunshot.

We head inside the shuttle in silence, surrounded by the remaining survivors of the Hugo Gernsback. The women, despite their disheveled appearance and stench of sweat, jungle and fear, smile. Light comes back in their eyes, like they’ve finally got something to hope for again. Jacob stands, hanging on the railing looking at nothing in particular. Shepard sits, leaned over and resting her arms on her knees. Though her face is mostly hidden, that posture is a dead ringer for how she looked on Horizon. Always weighing out the waste of a good life. Never enough for her.

“Jacob,” she says, and the weariness in her voice is plain. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

She nods. Without looking up, she says, “Wanna blow up some shit with me and Jack?”

A pause. “Yep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard would have picked Tali to go on this mission because she has more patience with older tech than Shepard does. But Garrus pointed out that she still needed to tweak the shields after seeing the effects of several consecutive FTL jumps.


	29. From Omega, With Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard makes good on a few promises. Garrus wears a nice jacket.

**Shepard**

I pile into the elevator with Thane and Samara for our usual training session. After dealing with the Shit Mission Brigade on the Daddy Issues SR2, I needed something to punch. To kick. To scream at in a bloody rage. The survivors were dropped off two days ago, but I’m still too keyed up and drained at the same time. The Alliance finally, _finally_ stepped in to help, but it took a situation involving ‘prolonged exposure to a harmful environment’ to acknowledge the shitshows I’m dealing with out here.

Thane leans against a stack of crates while Samara and I bow and assume our fighting stances. Throughout our missions, we learned that Samara and I favored mid-to-close combat while Thane kept things at a distance. Sparring with the ancient asari was always a hard-fought lesson in humility, but I was getting better. At least she said I was. Politely. While smirking.

We circle each other, her stoic blue face studying me for an opening. I eye her as well, keeping my guard up against her usual tricks. Her eyes glance to my right.

I charge.

She nimbly dodges my first attack, and surrounds herself in a faint purple aura. I fire off three biotic orbs behind her, landing them and watching her glow dissipate. I rush her again. Her leg comes up and a trail of purple light swirls behind her as she connects with my chest.

I crash into a couple of crates, vision scattered.

She saunters toward me and outstretches her hand to form a dark orb around her palm.

_Fuck._

I shake off and roll to the side just as her singularity launches. I pelt a few more orbs at her and scramble away. I try to focus on that same feeling, that rage-fueled clarity _._ Another dark sphere forms in her hand.

_Release._

With one hand she fires off her singularity. Her other arm shoots out just in time to shield herself from the brunt of my attack. I feel my body get sucked in, upwards, until I’m floating towards the tiny black hole, feeling too heavy and too light all at once.

“Dammit,” I mutter. “I thought I’ve have gotten this by now.”

“You almost did,” Samara replies warmly. “It’s not often I have to shield.” She flicks her wrist, and the micro black hole dissipates. I fall with a disheartening thud. “You neglect your left side.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I say, rubbing my back ruefully. “Did I at least take down your barrier this time? Please tell me I at least took down your barriers.”

“You did,” she intones. “And if you didn’t leave yourself open, they would have stayed down. There will be a time when technology will fail, and you won’t be able to rely on it to pick up your slack. That is why we do this.” She holds out her hand and hoists me up.

I roll my shoulders and do some test jumps. “I thought we did this to look like badasses when we destroy our enemies.”

“With proper training that’s just the side effect, siha.”

I smirk at Thane. Movement through the engineering observation window catches my eye. Overhead I see Garrus, Tali and Jack looking down at us.

Garrus gives me a thumbs up. The big guy always did bet on me. And what I would give right now to have hard talons scrape across my–

_Not the time, V. Deadly asari right in front of you._

I shake my head. “Ok, Samara. Again. Don’t hold back.”

**  
Garrus**

“Your fuck buddy’s gonna get her shit kicked in again.”

“She’s not my… you know what? Whatever,” I sigh. “Why don’t you go down there, do… whatever it is you people do?” I shift my weight and lean against the glass.

“Why the fuck would I go down there with the psycho girl scout and the asari murder bitch? I play too rough. I’d kill one and the other’ll kill me. Fuck that,” Jack scoffs.

“Does that count as the pot calling the kettle black?” Tali asks. “Two pots, maybe?”

“Whatever. I’m just glad she hasn’t forgotten our little deal.” The tiny woman paces across the corridor. “What the hell did you guys see down there? Or does she always wanna blow shit up?”

“You don’t want to know,” I say. Had it been anyone else, a random idiot out in the Verge, anyone but a teammate’s dad, I doubt she’d need to blow off steam this hard. I watch as Shepard takes another kick, this time to her right shoulder. Not too many can take a blow like that, but she’s pushing herself. A little too hard, if I’m honest.

“Garrus.” Tali hesitates. “That bad, huh?”

I crane my head and take in the young quarian. Pilgrimage or not, there’s a lot that Tali hasn’t seen. I fear that before all this is over, not just this mission, she’ll have seen too much. “There’s a lot of screwed up shit in this universe, Tali.” I look down at the duel, watching the Spectre land a few blows against the justicar. “A lot.”

“You’re starting to sound like her,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice. “But I’ll take your word for it. If I can steal you away from the show for a second, I’d like to go over some logistics with the engineers and Joker.”

“Sure,” I say with a shrug. “Just killing time anyway.” I follow her to the engineering deck where Gabby and Ken are running numbers.

“Ah, it’s the old scunner now,” Ken greets me, clapping me on the back. “Gabby and I were just going over the last couple of diagnostics. I think we’re ready to kick the Collectors right in their daddybags.”

Gabby rolls her eyes. “For once he’s not exaggerating. But a word of precaution. This frigate is still meant to eliminate targets as quickly as possible. We’re not going to survive a firefight of attrition, even with the new shields. But with the ship upgrades as they are now, we can get the jump on them and bolt before they knew what hit them.”

“That’s reassuring and expected,” I say. “But let’s not promote outside our tiers yet. We still need to see how that IFF will affect out systems. Good job all around, everyone.”

“I just wish we actually had something to shoot at,” Tali grouses. “There’s not much cause these days for a true ship battle. Not that I’m complaining,” she amends, holding up her hands at us. “But I would love to test out the new systems.”

“Joker,” I call into the comm. “I’m sure you’d like to put the ship through its paces, right?”

“Pfft, you know it. In flight school we’d have designated zones to perform maneuvers and battle sims. But that’s damn near impossible in unregulated space what with the pirates, mercs, and EDI hounding my ass.”

“The protocols are clear, Mr. Moreau,” EDI says coolly. “However, were you to get the Commanding Officer’s approval, that would override any restrictions. Provided you can secure a proper simulation zone.”

_I think I know a place or two like that._

“I hate to bring it up again, but,” Gabby hesitates. “I found a place that has those FBA couplings we mentioned before.” She glances at Ken before giving me a wary look. “But it’s on Omega.”

I try hard to keep a neutral look. “Send the details over my way, and I can make sure we pick them up.” Their postures still show a sense of discomfort, and Gabby does nothing to hide the worry on her face. “It’ll be fine,” I assure them. “Most will probably think I’m dead.”

I leave the engineering deck, stealing a glance at the sparring match in the cargo bay.

_With luck, I can keep it that way._

**~*~**

Jacob and I load into the shuttle while Shepard hands off a detonator to Jack. For the first time since I met her, the criminal’s face is borderline serene. I envy her courage a little. She faced old, deep-seated ghosts. Tortured, kids pitted against kids, the countless experiments. All just to unlock the ‘true potential’ in human biotics.

Part of me knows that what they did was wrong. That the methods were completely unsound, and that all it amounted to was a woman with a lot of emotional scars. But it also makes me question how they measured their success. Jack _is_ powerful. She is arguably the most powerful human biotic in history, and it’s a wonder the Alliance didn’t lock her down once she racked up offenses. Why would the Illusive Man recruit someone with a nuclear-sized grudge against Cerberus unless he wanted to test his investments?

Or get rid of her, and I’ve no idea which is worse.

I look at the two human women with their backs turned against us, opposite on the spectrum in looks as two humans can get. But the way they stand against the observation window, looking at each other with the same fierce eyes and brutal smile, I realize it’s not just Jack’s ghosts we’re putting to rest. It’s an act of defiance on their part. A blatant ‘flicking the V’ at being an experiment, being brought into Cerberus’s fold against their will.

“Do it,” Shepard nods. “About time we’ve seen some fireworks.”

Jack pushes the button, and in three short seconds their silhouettes are surrounded by a warm orange glow. And blame it on leftover adrenaline from shooting merc squatters, or blame it on how a nuclear explosion lights her eyes in just the right way, but damn if there wasn’t something about Shepard when she smiles.

“Y’know Shepard, if there is a god,” Jack says. “That’s what he sounds like.”

“Like a big ass explosion in the sky? Yeah. I can go with that.”

Before long we’re piled in the Normandy elevator, heading toward the armory. Same rhythm, same motions. Unload weapons, decontaminate armor, and normally head to the conference room to debrief. This time Jack stalks back to the elevators without a word, but shoots a smile Shepard’s way, and I realize just how young the criminal really is. Jacob cleans rifles, setting to work like he’s got all the time in the world.

As I set my weapons in the locker I notice a… poorly-drawn version of me with irrationally-shaped bubbles scattered about. Hearts, I remind myself, but human iconography makes about as much sense as their idioms. I peer over at Shepard, but she seems engrossed in her task. Shaking my head, I shut the locker and head toward the elevator. She catches up with me as I wait.

“Hey.” She doesn’t quite look at me, but looking down I see the faintest smile on her face. And as much as I want to see more of it…

“Shepard,” I start, hoping for professionalism. “Request came down from engineering for some parts. Best place to get them is Omega. There’s also a few patches of space near there that we can run combat scenarios without getting hassled.”

She looks directly at me, long and hard with her face drawn in tight. “You really gotta go back there? Can you pass it off to Tali?”

“I could, but,” I look off to the side. _She understands, I know she does._ “It should be me.”

She continues to give me this long steady look, and it would be unnerving if I didn’t just get a love note from her. “Ok. We’ll make a drop to the pisshole.” The elevator arrives and we head in. She stares straight ahead as she punches in for her cabin. “Don’t be a hero when we get out there.”

“Promise.” I edge a little closer to her and trail a finger along her back. “Promise,” I whisper again near her ear.

“One day this is gonna count as insubordination,” she breaths.

“Not unless you give the right orders.”

“Your lines are still cheesy, Vakarian,” she says, hot breath on my cowl. “But I’ll make sure I make the right calls.”

**Shepard**

We jump through the relay to the Omega system, and I can’t help but feel a sense of dread. In a way it’s where it all ended for me. We drift toward the familiar jellyfish-shaped space station, the place I stopped through just before I died. The place where I found Garrus. The place that’s quite possibly the worst dump in the Terminus, but at least they’re honest about it.

This shithole’s got some fond memories alright, and for whatever dumbass bravado reason, Garrus wants to relive them. Zaeed and Samara flank us as we head through the dusty corridors toward the Kenzo district markets. Dust was always a thing on mining colonies, but this asteroid has galactic records on air pollution per capita. The sharp acrid stench of eezo permeates the alleyways, but it’s miles better than the plague-ridden bodies the last time I stepped off this rock.

Finding the ship parts is easy. The markets are completely unregulated here, so finding discontinued tech, black market upgrades, and back issues of Fornax only requires a little patience and a keen eye. Getting a decent price for the merchandise is the hard part. It usually requires the type of finesse that Samara would frown upon, though I tend to wonder what the Code says about price gouging.

_These prices are obstructing justice. By the Code, I’m afraid I’ll have to rob you blind._

“Listen kid,” I say instead, leaning onto the counter using my best attempt at a sultry voice. “That coupling’s been on your shelf for as long as they came out with the D96 model. At that price, you’re not gonna move it until you find another old-fashioned gal that like her machinery a little more… built to last.”

The kid is a quarian, so it’s impossible to tell if his reaction is utter laughter or not. Garrus on the other hand is grumpy as ever. He’s never been one to see the point of haggling. In the Hierarchy, the prices set meant just that, even if it did mean getting suckered by the volus from time to time.

The kid, Ken, stammers something out and shaves a few hundred credits off the price. As we’re prepping the shipment details, Garrus leans near me and whispers, “If you’re done flirting, you might want to keep an eye on Samara. She looks agitated.”

I glance over in her direction. Sure enough, the justicar looks a bit more rigid than she ought to, but it’s not her usual fighting stance or pre-fighting stoicism. The way she’s looking at the back entrance of Afterlife is like she’s seen a ghost. And by the balled fists and faint blue aura around her, it wasn’t a friendly one.

“I’ll talk to her,” I say, raising up from my perch. “Finish up for me?”

“Always.”

I head to where Samara’s still standing, and she must be pissed because she’s not one to ignore a person walking from behind. But I guess my footfall’s distinct enough given her reaction. “You alright there?” I ask.

“I should have expected to see her here of all places,” Samara replies. She clutches something in her left hand, but all I can see is a tiny silvery chain.

“Her?”

“The bouncer referred to her as Morinth. That must be the name she’s adopted now to avoid detection.” She opens her palm, revealing a locket of intricate design. When she opens it, a small holo comes up, showing Samara with three smiling asari children, no older than teenagers. A tinkling music box tune plays while the locket is activated, likely some song older than most of human civilization.

I look at her, really taking in the fact that these are her daughters, and I still can’t even imagine what she’s feeling. “I uh, thought justicars gave up all their possessions.”

She snaps the locket shut and gives me a long sad look. “Identification purposes only. Mirala must be stopped and soon.”

“Did she notice you?” I ask.

“No, and until the time is right, it must remain that way. Shepard,” she says, drawing in a certain regal aura that only a matriarch can have. “I must ask a difficult favor.”

**~*~**

“No,” Garrus says, arms folded.

“I don’t like the plan any more than you do, big guy, but it’s how she wants to play it. Zip me up.”

“No. It’s an absurd idea. There’s over a dozen different alleyways or killzones we can lure her into. It would be clean and surgical, not this cat and mouse bullshit.”

I shoot him an incredulous look. I doubt he realizes he’s doing it, but even that’s not an idiom I’ve ever taught him. Right?

I brush aside the thought and finish my makeup. Asari chicks tend to like humans that embrace some of their ‘ancient and superior’ aesthetics. For me it means normal makeup with streaks of bright gold strategically framed around my face. The dress, one of the outfits Cerberus supplied, had some of the same type of cutout circular patterns seen in asari fashion, but this was modified with a human slant. Asymmetrical hem, solid black, and hiding just enough skin to not be lewd.

The longer hem hid my sidearm holster. Garrus can say what he wants, but I’m not that fucking crazy. And between that, the biotics and my ‘formalwear’ tech armor suite, we shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

“Look, why don’t we compromise. If shit goes sideways, you and Zaeed can put as many holes in her as you want. But if you’re going to go, then be discreet. Not just for the plan, ok?”

“I’m not the one with impulse control, Shepard. I can be discreet.”

With a wink I lift the longer hem to secure my sidepiece. “And lucky for us I don’t have to, remember? Zip me up.”

He huffs at that. I check him out, already shrugging into a sleek, yet reinforced jacket. I’m certain this is a good look for him, but I can’t help feeling ignorant of turian fashion. It looks like a complex array of leg buckles, a neckline that confines the cowl, and sharp, contrasting lines. But the black, blue and silver suit him.

He strides over finally and zips me in. And as he’s doing that, he’s giving me a sharp, predatory gaze. “This is such a terrible idea,” he murmurs, caressing my thigh. No harm in indulging for a few minutes, right?

_Focus, V._

“I know.” I swat his hand away. “VIP overlooks the main entrance. Zaeed will be posted in the main section, so he’ll have clear visual. Samara is going to track any movement outside.”

We head into the elevator. “We can’t be seen going in together, or it’ll look like I’m not available.” I frown at that thought. Of course I’m not available. “So you go in before me and find a good perch. If you spot her before I do, signal me. She looks a lot like Samara if that helps.”

“Meanwhile you’re going to get her attention by doing what, exactly? _Not_ start any bar fights, but still cause a scene?”

I grin at him as we exit the ship. “I’ll figure something out. And hey.” I pull him in close until our foreheads touch. “You better be fucking careful, alright?”

“That’s my line,” he grumbles back.

We walk separately after that. The line to the VIP section of Afterlife is remarkably shorter, but the bouncer looks no less harried. Before long I give the password provided by Aria; the ‘queen’ was no happier about an Ardat-Yakshi in her midst than we were. The batarian bouncer lets me in, and I strut into the club as if my life depended on it.

The beat pulsing in this section is definitely better than the synth-pop playing downstairs. The strippers dance with a little more skill instead of desperation, and whip around poles with biotic-fueled acrobatics. The booze counter is inviting enough, in that won’t get scale itch kind of way. I saunter over to the bar and order a Salty Varren, then lean back and scan the area. I spot Garrus easily. He’s off in one of the booths in the back, a near-permanent scowl on his face. His eyes rest on me for a split second, then goes back to scanning the dancefloor. After a time, he holds up a finger before taking a drink.

Sure enough doors to the club open and reveal ‘Morinth.’ She looks remarkably like Samara, right down to the cold killing intent behind a stoic blue face. She’s clad in an all-black, high collar dress, and save for the typical cutouts that aided biotic manipulation, she looks demure in a sea full of raunch.

Self-included, I suppose.

I give my best thousand-yard stare to the asari, holding my gaze a little too long for my liking, then turn away. I beckon the bartender over, and order two more drinks. One for me, and one deep purple concoction for the chick I’m about to seduce. I scribble a note on a napkin and signal a dancer.

“Here babe,” I say. “Give this to the girl over there.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the pretty blue girl gives the drink and the note to the other pretty blue girl. Morinth, Mirala, or whatever she wants to call herself reads the note. I take a sip of my drink and count.

On six Morinth beckons me over. I slide into her booth, drink in hand. Even up close this girl is pretty for an asari but there’s this _thing_ behind her eyes that sets me on edge. I’m starting to think that this is all gonna go sideways before we even find out what’s right-side up.

All this and I’m not even attracted to the broad.

“So,” she says. “This note intrigued me. ‘Donovan Hock had a party, and I’m offended you weren’t my date.’ You say it like I know who this person is, but well. The brazenness intrigued me. So tell me.” She leans in, smelling like lilies and danger. “What did I miss?”

I roll my eyes and shrug nonchalantly. “I mean, if you’ve never heard of him then I guess I’m barking up the wrong tree. You looked like the type that would indulge a yarn about a gal, a heist, and a pile of priceless artwork. Tell me I’m wrong and I walk, no harm no foul.”

“You’re not,” she says, appraising me. “On a few accounts. Rumor has it he had quite the collection in that dingy little mansion of his. What caught your eye, Miss…?”

“Gunn. Alison Gunn. And jokes on me because that’s what I took. Sometimes you want the Locust that killed two presidents. And sometimes,” I lean in, brushing her hand with a biotically-charged finger, “You have to take what you want. Wouldn’t you agree?”

_Laying it on pretty thick there, genius._

“Mmm, agree completely.” And her eyes say predator, but not the right _kind_ of predator, not the kind that makes me feel like redshifting straight into the sack. “If you’re into classic weapons I’ve got just the thing to show you at my apartment, Miss Gunn. What do you say we get out of here?”

Jaws locked in a smile, I steel myself and say, “lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asari dance techniques can incorporate a great deal of biotic power, and moves such as Lift, Throw, and even Stasis are used to good choreographic effect.
> 
> Shepard still can't dance.


	30. You Only Live Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus relives memories from Omega. Shepard just wants a drink.

**Garrus**

“She’s on the move,” I mutter into my comm. “Samara, she should be coming up on your visual. Zaeed, confirm status.”

“Just stepped into the main corridor,” Zaeed grumbles. “They’re loitering outside the entrance.”

I slip out the club using a service entrance I hadn’t thought about in ages. It was always convenient when we wanted eyes on a mark, but didn’t want to incur Aria’s wrath. The back alley is empty save for a couple of vorcha snarling at each other in a corner.

I couldn’t help but feel like all this was familiar somehow.

I stick to the shadows and make my way towards the club entrance. Sure enough, I see the two of them lingering by stairs, the asari a little more handsy than I’d like. I growl inwardly, cursing this stupid plan. If it wasn’t for the Code or pride or whatever flimsy excuse the justicar had, it all would’ve been done the moment she walked into the club.

Morinth’s apartment appears to be within walking distance since they don’t enter a skycar. I continue to follow, catching a brief glimpse of Zaeed as he skulks through the alleyways. Based on the route they’re going, Shepard and the asari are heading to the one district on Omega that was actually considered nice.

_“So this is where that Gus fella lives, huh?” Butler spits off the balcony and folds his arms. “Guess smuggling does pretty well for you in these parts.”_

_Monteague sets aside her binoculars and looks up at the stout man. “Listen, money’s all over this rock if you know where to look. But not all money ain’t good money, feel me? Too many of his guns go to the wrong people, and those people need to get ran through. And if we cut off the source–”_

_“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m just saying it’s nice is all. Me and Nalah, we might could settle down in a place like that.”_

_“You are one besotted motherfucker, man.” She grins. “We about to off a guy, and you’re sitting around building picket fences and shit.”_

_“Love makes the universe go round, my friend.”_

I send a quick ping to Samara to confirm visual of the predator’s apartment. Her plan seems to consist of bursting in with no finesse and killing her daughter in her home. I suppose the justicar needed Shepard as an excuse to lure her while ensuring she wouldn’t target another victim. And I suppose she figured if anyone could resist an asari serial killer, it’s my… Well, Shepard.

_And I suppose I shouldn’t be angry at any of them for not using reason for once, even when reason all but slaps them in the face._

It doesn’t matter. I find an old balcony that has a good view of the apartment, but no way to see well inside. The building’s nice, but isolated, with no real way to infiltrate without going unnoticed. And too far to enter from the rooftop, at least without a skycar.

Which means doing things the hard way.

I try to see if I can pick up Shepard’s private comm signal. If the asari is as paranoid as I would expect, then she should have some kind of jamming signal installed in the apartment. But then again, she couldn’t be that paranoid if she let another trained killer in her midst. Which makes me wonder what the hell Shepard said to this woman.

Part of me wants to be proud, but damn this plan is idiotic.

Sure enough, there’s a signal jam, but I manage to get a very garbled version of Shepard’s voice. I can’t make out a thing they’re saying, but there’s enough to make out tone. A crude hack by most standards, so there’s no real challenge in cracking it.

_“What do you make of it?” I ask._

_The batarian looks at me with distain, and I wonder if his face is permanently that way. He grunts, “Piece of cake. Standard human encryption. He used a string of modded toolsets, some dating back a hundred years. Idiot thinks he’s safe because people don’t use these anymore. Use old tech because new tech can’t detect it. Would’ve worked, but you got me. Count yourself lucky, turian.”_

_“Noted. See what you can do and report back to Ripper with the results.”_

Based on her tone of voice, Shepard sounds like she’s stalling for time. I hear muffled speech from a feminine, not-unfamiliar voice, the usual inflection of Shepard asking questions, then a pause. Speech, question, pause. As long as it stays that way until Samara gets in position, I can pretend to rest easier.

I get a message from Zaeed confirming visual from another nearby building. He says she’s casing the place, looking like she’s making small talk. Now she’s sitting with the murderer on the couch, more talking. Still pawing at her, and I wish he’d left that detail out.

_C’mon Samara, where are you?_

I hear two sets of voices. One of them turns angry and from my angle I see a blue flicker. Samara finally comes into view.

Over the comm I hear a crash.

_Crap._

I don’t think I’ve ever moved as fast as I do now. By the time I reach the apartment door, Samara’s already broken in.

“I can’t choose to stop being your daughter, mother!”

I run into the room, weapon out and watch as Samara pins her daughter against a window. Shepard, forgotten by the two asari is behind the couch drawing her side arm.

“You made your choice long ago!” Samara bellows, voice deep and cruel.

“What choice, mother?” Morinth breaks her hold with a blinding biotic pulse, knocking us all back against the walls. “You made me! You made me who I am!”

They unleash huge blasts of blue light at each other, toppling furniture and breaking statues in their wake. I scramble toward Shepard to shield her just as a chair flies by. The static in the air is overwhelming, and the tiny living room pulses with dark energy.

I’ve seen a lot of biotic fights, but nothing like this.

“You are a disease to be purged. Nothing more,” Samara says with a cold anger.

“So that’s it. So I must die, mother?” She glows from everywhere except her eyes. Those eyes are something from a nightmare, pitch black like an angry void. Like a promise of death itself.

They stand off, twin biotic orbs poised at each other. The air intensifies around us, and a dull vibration fills my head. Their attacks fry my brain right to the core, and from the way Shepard’s face contorts and how she digs at her neck, she’s not faring any better. If we can get one shot in it’ll be over, but my head is killing me.

And then I hear the faint tinkle of the window breaking. An instant later the light show ends.

Through blurry vision, I see Morinth leaning over clutching her leg, Shepard reaching for her gun, and Samara covered in blue light. Zaeed climbs through the window and it feels like slow motion watching him. As I shut my eyes to shake off whatever they were blasting, I hear three gunshots and a scream.

“Find peace in the embrace of the goddess,” Samara says, and I open my eyes in time to see her snap Morinth’s neck. Something falls off the serial killer’s body and clatters to the ground, and the room is filled with a strange cheerful melody. Just moments before it seemed too loud to hear anything, but now the room stands eerily still. I try to make sense of what’s going on as I watch Samara crouch to pick up the item.

I help Shepard to her feet, and she approaches the justicar. Whatever’s making that sound, she’s clutching it for dear life.

“All this time,” she says finally. “For four hundred years, and she–”

“She was still your daughter,” Shepard says with wonder in her voice. “Listen, I… I don’t know what to say, but…”

“Sometimes silence speaks more volume than any words of encouragement.” She shuts off the music and folds Morinth’s arms across her chest with a gentleness only a mother could possess. All of a sudden, I feel like I’m intruding, and the way Zaeed shifts toward the door, I know I’m not alone.

“Shepard, maybe we should…” I start.

“Yeah.” She nods. “Samara, I… I wish it didn’t… Let me know if you need anything.”

“You have already done more than most. But I thank you for bringing this to an end.”  


**Shepard**

“Jesus murdering Christ,” I lament. “There’s not enough booze on this rock to make me feel better about what just happened, but I’m about to test that shit right now.” I turn to Zaeed and Garrus. “You guys wanna escort a lady while she drinks herself to oblivion?”

“As soon as I find a lady, yeah,” Zaeed says with a wink. Then he sighs. “That was nasty business. Don’t envy it one bit, but that asari’s stronger than she looks.”

“She already looks pretty strong to begin with,” Garrus drawls.

“My point exactly, kid. Having her by our side… It might be just what this mission needs.” He takes a swig from his flask. “Takes more guts than most to face down a demon like that. There’s no joy in watching a kid ruin their life.”

I steal a glance Zaeed’s way. _Did this guy just sound wistful?_

“I hope it all works out.” I say instead as we walk back toward Afterlife. “But as far as I’m concerned, my mission is to get drunk. No one should ever have to live through that. By the way. Good shooting, Zaeed.” I flash him a smile. “You really saved our bacon back there.”

“Just what the hell were they doing back there?” Garrus asks. “We’ve all tangled with biotics before, but I’ve never been incapacitated like that.”

“Then you should spar with Samara sometime,” I reply dryly. “She’s got this move that hits you right in your nervous system. She goes light on me obviously, but it paralyzes you. My guess is, Mirala was doing the same thing or something similar. No telling how it would have turned out if it was just them, but it’d been four hundred years. Long time to hone your skills.”

We head to the bar and I order a drink from some batarian guy that’s nothing but eyes and sneers. “She won’t teach me the move yet,” I continue. “I don’t know if it’s because it’s hard or unethical, or I’m just not asari enough, but you guys seen it in action.”

“I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy,” Garrus replies. “Zaeed, consider yourself lucky. That. Hurt.”

“Glad I missed it then. Those damn blue girls pack a helluva punch.” He takes another pull from his flask. “So what’s next then, Shepard? Ready to be big goddamn heroes?”

“You know it,” I say, taking a sip. “Next stop is get that IFF, install it, then…” I trail off. “Then… shit, what’s with this… music?”

“You alright there, Shepard?” Zaeed’s voice sounds too… far. The music’s all loud and fuzzy all of a sudden.

 _Yeah, I’m fine._ I said that just now, right? I blink hard, trying to get his face to focus right. This club needs… more… light.

**~*~**

“Shepard! Shepard, wake up!”

I open my eyes to see a panicked turian and the other guy with a face full of scars. No wonder these guys like each other. It’s like looking in a damn mirror. I let out a chuckle.

“Shepard what the hell is so damn funny? We thought you were dead!”

“Hell Garrus, I was,” I say groggily. “How much did I drink?”

“A sip,” Zaeed answers. “That batarian bastard in there took you for a mark. How’re you feeling, love?”

“Like I should’ve gotten my money’s worth,” I respond. They help me to my feet, and I instantly regret wearing stilettos. “Batarian, you said? Fuck me, did I get roofied by some four-eyed piece of shit blink?”

“Looks like,” Garrus says, and his eyes have this venom to them. “I’m going in there.”

“Whoa, cowboy.” I grab his arm and try to shake off the lingering after effects. “Remember how I said watch yourself? People here think you’re dead so stow it with the Archangel shtick.”

And he glares at me like I just insulted the entire turian race. _Christ, Garrus how do you think_ I _feel?_ But he concedes anyway. God my head hurts.

“It’s 2185 and women still have to deal with this shit,” I grumble. “Ok look. We go in together, but let me do the talking, alright? No one poisons me and lives. How’s my makeup?”

Garrus gives me an incredulous look, then heads toward the bar.

 _Fine._ I follow suit, and sure enough the same bartender is there. I approach the asshole and order a drink. I glance behind and see Zaeed and Garrus flanking me.

“Do I know you? Bah, all humans look alike anyway. Here. On the house.” He sneers at me before turning away.

_Oh, fuck this guy._

“Drink it,” I say.

He turns. “Wait, I know you,” he says. “But you should be–”

“Dead? Been there, done that, got the stupid shirt,” I say with a menace that matched my mood. “Now drink it or I use your eyes as a cocktail garnish.” I ready my omni-blade in case this asshole tries to be clever.

His hand trembles and he takes the drink. I lean against the countertop and stare the batarian down, drumming on the countertop. He drinks it in one gulp and begins to cough.

“Let’s go,” I say. I leave, not bothering to watch the bastard fall down.

“Places like these are slaughterhouses posing as nightclubs,” Zaeed comments. “We need to get you a flask instead.”

“Mmm.” I shrug. “It shouldn’t have to come to that.” The situation killed off any desire I had to drink, and my feet are starting to ache. “Listen, I think I’m just gonna head back to the ship. We’re doing combat sims in another fourteen hours, so I’m gonna prepare, get some rest. Keep that in mind in case you guys make a night of it.”

 

**Garrus**

“I hate this place,” I mutter. “I should’ve killed him myself.”

“Kid, you’ve got a lot to learn.” Zaeed rests his hands on his hips and spits off to the side. “There’s a time when you step in, and a time when a woman fights her own battle. Now c’mon.” He beckons. “We might as well do that thing you were telling me about.”

Right. Back to the scene of the crime, so to speak. We take a transport to Kima district, keeping a low profile the whole way. When we arrive, it all looks so familiar, but distant. A lifetime ago.

This area of Omega isn’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination, but for the better part of two years it was home. Several of the high-rises in this area are boarded up, if they even bothered to cover the broken windows. Lights from seedy storefronts illuminate the streets, mixing into a rusty orange light. Never quite enough light to feel safe in these parts. In order to live and breathe in this area, we always had to watch our back.

“I don’t know what I was expecting to feel coming back.” I kick an old bottle of Tupari aside. “There’s still so much going on here. Samara’s daughter making a mess of things, that damn batarian. Nothing I ever did here made a dent.”

“Oh piss off, Vakarian,” Zaeed mutters. “You’d really have me believe you came all the way out here to do some good in the world?” He laughs, but there’s no mirth behind it. “I know a man chasing after death when I see ‘em.”

“What did you just say to me?” I halt in the street and stare him down.

He stares me down right back. “You’re really one depressing son of a bitch, y’know that? Of course you made a dent. But there’s always going to be assholes, no matter what you do. It’s how men like me make their nut. It’s how C-SEC types like you get their cases. The world’s gonna keep on spinning, kid.” He walks down the street a length, then cocks his head back to me. “It’s your job to keep up.”

I quicken my pace to catch up with him. “You’re an arrogant bastard, you know,” I sigh. “Let’s go through the tunnels. This way.”

Arrogant bastard or not, I suppose he has a point. No more of one than I already know myself. It was a fool’s errand to think that I could right every wrong imaginable on this station. Worse than that, they’re gone. All of them, now.

We trudge through the familiar tunnel system, originally used to move equipment and goods seized by our operation. Using this network saved our skins. They were never able to detect our numbers, and since this was one of many abandoned buildings, no one ever bothered to check this place. It wasn’t until that final push that the gangs even considered infiltrating the tunnels.

“Why do you think I tell so many damn stories?” Zaeed plods ahead, surprisingly familiar with the pathway.

“C’mon, old man,” I drawl. “You’re always the type to brag.”

“Brag,” he scoffs. “Brag about being the last one standing? Is that it?”

We reach the back entrance to my old grounds. I punch in the old security code, and don’t feel as much surprise as I should that it still works. When I open the door, everything feels so… Joker would call it déjà vu. It doesn’t translate, but if ever I got the meaning it’s now.

“You can’t tell me you don’t,” I say. “You do it all the time. Brag about your exploits, the jobs you did, the deadly women.” I smile a little. “Though the last I don’t know whether to throttle you or thank you.”

“It’s to remember them,” he says simply. “Every squad I had, every merc band I dealt with. Sometimes a story is all that’s left. Sometimes it’s all you need.” He claps my back. “And sometimes you get another fucking chance whether you’re too daft to realize it or not.”

“So that’s why I’m a depressing son of a bitch? Because I don’t realize it?”

He grins at me. “You’re a depressing son of a bitch because you do realize it.”

I smirk at that. I begin to pace through the kitchen, counting the steps. “It should be…” I step over a few floorboards, listening for that slight thunk. “Here.” I pry open the floor with my omni-tool. Sure enough, the same non-descript box is stashed away.

“Well no wonder we didn’t find it,” Zaeed says. “Even your sticky-fingered girl wouldn’t have looked there.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to,” I respond. Inside the box were some of the personal effects of my crew, as well as the scant artifacts from the life I left behind, some dating back to before my C-SEC days. My old military tags, an officer award, the first scope my father ever gave me. But inside the box is also a letter, the last one my sister wrote to me by hand. Before I went to Omega.

“When I was staring you guys down in my scope all those months ago.” I laugh, and it feels stale and harsh, like ash. “I was this close to calling my father. Who knows why. I guess to make amends, or get the lecture I thought I needed. Who knows. I never did.” I turn to the veteran, idly tapping the letter. “Instead I get saved by this ghost, a spirit of battle turned flesh again by psychotic terrorists. But here’s to second chances, right?”

I put the letter back and lift the box from the floor. “I got what I need. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Depressing son of a bitch,” Zaeed mutters, and he claps me on the back.  


**Shepard**

I hear the door to my cabin slide open and look up to see Garrus walk in, looking tense and stern. I set aside my datapad and match the turian’s gaze. He not even trying to hide the pissed-off look on his face, and for once I don’t really blame him.

Except I do because I didn’t want to go to Omega in the first place.

He saunters over towards me, towards the bed, and sits on the edge beside me. Taking one of my hands in his, he looks at me, pale blue eyes boring in with this mix of hurt and anger that I wish wasn’t universal. He strokes my hand without saying a word. He doesn’t need to.

We stay like this, the silence drowned out by the gentle hum of the ship.

Finally, I sigh. “I’ll try to be more careful, Garrus.”

“You won’t,” he says wearily.

“I won’t,” I agree.

“But I’ll be at your six anyway.” He drags me to him, and cradles my head in his hands, drawing me into a long embrace. I sigh, breathing in the smell of the day’s events off him; the stale mingling of club sweat and eezo from Omega, adrenaline and gunfire, and underneath, fresh sand and copper. Home, or something like it.

“Maybe you should be at my left while you’re at it,” I say into his cowl. I feel and hear him chuff at that as he traces my phantom scar.

“You need all the coverage you can get,” he replies, kneading my back.

“I beg to differ,” I say, smirking. Deflecting. Trying very hard to steer this into a place I can navigate without hassle.

He doesn’t take the bait. “I don’t like thinking I’m going to lose you.” He pulls away and holds my shoulders. “I’m not saying I can… Look, I know you don’t need me swooping in to save the day, but. Two years was already a long time.”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “S’what they keep telling me. Never feels like it, until I look around.” I reach for his neck, just under the fringe, and gently caress him. “Let’s not tonight. Fair? I don’t want to waste time fighting with you about something we can’t change. We’re here now, right?”

“We’re here,” he replies, and draws me in again with a lingering kiss. His subharmonics drone, and the gentle vibrations relax me and stirs something entirely not relaxing in me. I deepen the kiss and let dark energy escape my fingertips.

He groans against my lips. I grin against his.

“So not fair,” he murmurs.

“I like playing dirty,” I reply.

“Sounds like a game for two.”

Before I can react or say a silly quip, a hand leaves my waist and he pushes me back. Next thing I know he’s on top of me, eyes intense and predatory, and his finger hits that spot. He rubs long and slow, and an embarrassingly loud moan escapes my lips.

“Not… fair,” I say, voice hitching.

“Not in the business of playing fair,” he rumbles.

“You’re overdressed,” I say with a grin.

He rolls his eyes and presses harder, eliciting another moan from me. “Real cute, Shepard. Can always count on you to badger me.” He leans in, and I feel his tongue flick at my neck.

I suppress a shudder just long enough to say, “pants off, Vakarian.”

He flicks his mandible and complies. First the jacket, then the shirt, then the intricate buckles on his pants, each one like a countdown. And finally I’m looking at him, swathes of intricate lines, silvery plates across deep grey skin, old scars earned with and without me, and apex strength all over. Strange and beautiful, like abstract art.

“What?” he asks.

_Staring again. Damn it._

“You’re gorgeous,” I reply simply.

And for a second, his head turns and swear to God he looks bashful, and it’s fucking adorable. He comes back, hovers over me and goes back to licking my neck and tracing talons across my skin. He reaches for that spot again like it’s his best damn friend, and I writhe under his touch.

Moans turn to words lost long before Babel as he works his magic. And by now, we know what works, and he knows enough to bend, but not break. His finger leaves, making me shudder with pleasure, annoyance, and anticipation. My eyes open and I see a face full of smug turian leaning in to touch foreheads, and a steady wash of subharmonics flood through me.

There’s a level of patience snipers possess, and when that patience lands in my quarters, it translates to something oddly romantic. He savors, I devour. Biotics are quick, wild, charging in with reckless abandon, and we had to compromise. His patience, my power. Until it turned to our patience, our power. He kisses and scents my neck as I reach for the seam between his plates, coaxing him, out, beyond ready.

He complies.

And the countdown turns into a rhythm as we collide those forces of patience and power. The contrast of hard plates, rough skin and gentle touches drive me wild, but adding that strength, power, that drive…

He feels me shudder under him. Feels me breaking as my Babel-speech reaches new volumes. His finger finds his best friend and I crash all over again. Then I feel him crash right along after me like a skycar pileup.

He pants against my skin and nips at my earlobe. Blue eyes look down on me, filled with humor as he says, “You know, turians usually mind if you call other names in bed, but this Jesus fellow seems like a good guy.”

I crack up laughing. “Oh my fucking God, Garrus.”

“He seems nice, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good parts of Omega gives just enough hope to the bad parts of Omega. But you have to do some pretty bad things to get there.


	31. No Really, Normandy's Still a Better Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Tali go to a family reunion. Garrus tries to make sure he'll have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We're in the home stretch! I want to thank everyone for all the wonderful comments and kudos so far. I hope this was as much fun reading this as it was writing.**

**Shepard**

“The combat simulation went swimmingly,” Miranda states, her voice a mix of smug satisfaction and relief. “I trust that the crew met your high expectations.”

I smirk back. “No sense in handing out medals just yet. We’ll need to review the full stats from all system teams, but this baby can handle a firefight.”

“The information gathered from the Collector ship proved invaluable for the simulation,” EDI says. “Based on observed movements, weapon systems, and predicted capabilities, there is an eighty-four percent probability of surviving a future encounter.”

The odds of survival are a lot less slim. I run a quick scan on the preliminary weapons and engineering stats. So far so good, but there were a couple of obvious slips that engineering missed. Nothing life-threatening, but still. Now’s not the time to get sloppy. Not when we’re so close.

“Miranda, we’ll take thirty minutes to regroup.” I send a copy of my simulation notes to her, giving it one more look before heading towards the bridge. “I’m going to chat with Joker, figure out what happened with some of these numbers.”

A grim expression passes across her face as she reads over the data. “Understood, Commander.”

I trot up to the bridge and clap my pilot on the shoulder. “Give it to me straight, Joker. How in the hell did we almost overheat from shooting at asteroids five minutes into the simulation?”

“Ow, Commander. Never stopped being fragile, remember?” He nurses his arm and pulls up a diagnostic interface. “I think with maneuvering, she did great. I want to trim up the drive output and make her handle like the old one a little more. As far as why we overheated,” he continues, swiping the monitor over, “it looks like engineering wasn’t quick enough on swapping the lithium plates.”

I squint through the readout. “Noted. The maneuvers during the last run were a little sluggish, don’t you think? Would modifying the drive fix it, or are we locked in because of our size?”

“Actually.” He swipes back to the flight output and beckons me closer. “Between you and me, we can do a lot better. But once I saw that heat spike I backed off. Something went sloppy down in engineering. And I like Tali a lot, but something felt off this time. Since she’s been on the ship now, everything runs seamlessly, like she’s a good luck charm, ‘yknow?” He grins a little, but his smile falters as he looks back at the report. “She’s way too familiar with this ship and the SR1 to let a simple mistake fly by.”

I nod. “Yeah, I saw that too. Maybe there was a malfunction.” I pull up the comm in engineering, only to hear shouts coming from Garrus and Tali. I exchange a cross look with Joker.

“The hell are they on about?” he mutters.

“That explains that,” I say wryly. “I’m gonna go wring some necks.”

“Take pictures, Commander!”

When I step out of the elevator onto the engineering deck, I hear muffled arguing from the main control room. Kenneth and Gabby stand out in the hall looking shell-shocked, but not too shell-shocked to press their ears against the doors and type on their omni-tools. When they see me, they at least have the good grace to look guilty and scatter.

“Your people are short-sighted, and this is just another example of that!” I hear Garrus yell. “Why the hell would they spring this on you now?”

“Don’t you _dare_ insult my people, Garrus! I’m tired of you turians always chastising us, as if you’re so high and mighty.”

“Holy shit! What the hell is going on here!?” I shout, storming in. “Uncalled for, both of you!”

Garrus glares at Tali, mandibles drawn in tight, while Tali shifts uncomfortably under my stare. Neither seem to budge from their spot.

I rub my forehead. “What happened?”

“Why don’t you do the honors, Tali? Show her the message you got. Show her what your people are trying to pull this time.” Garrus leans against a wall and scowls at the quarian.

Tali’s body language is obviously upset, and I can almost feel the glare she’s giving Garrus. She thrusts a datapad in my hands and crosses her arms.

I read through the correspondence. Then I re-read it. I look at my two friends and it begins to dawn on me what’s going on. But to be safe I read it a third time.

“Treason?”

She nods faintly, then paces from her console to the drive core. “They wouldn’t be able to name the charges on an unsecured channel, and I doubt they would anyway if I’m on a Cerberus vessel,” she says in a rush. “But they wouldn’t level any charges unless they had compelling evidence that I betrayed the Fleet. But I haven’t _done_ anything to betray the fleet since I boarded this ship. Or ever! So I’m completely in the dark about what’s going on.”

She turns on her heel. “And to top it off, _you_ yet again insult my people. Short-sighted, contrite? I will not stand for it, Garrus!”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says flatly.

“Garrus!” I shout. I look at the datapad and let out a short sigh. “What reason do they have to charge you of treason? Is it because you’re _on_ a Cerberus vessel?”

She shakes her head. “I gave proper leave, and I’m working for you, _not_ Cerberus. Though… Perhaps they don’t see it that way. The charges would have to be more serious than what ship I’m on, so that wouldn’t make sense anyway. They would have to prove a clear danger to the safety of the Migrant Fleet, and I can’t think of one thing that I’ve done that would qualify.”

I frown. “If this were Alliance, there would be a tribunal, with a chance to appeal. Do your people have anything like that?”

“We do, but it’s not as formal as human court systems. I was going to book passage to the Fleet to take care of it.” She fidgets as she says, “I was going to say something about it today, but I need to see what this is about.”

I hand her the datapad. “Send Joker the coordinates. We’ve got time to sort this out. It’s the least I can do,” I say, giving her a reassuring look. “In the meantime.” I frown at them both. “You two have been friends to each other a long time. So stow it with the attitude and work this out.” I point at Garrus. “Vakarian, for Christ’s sake. Figure out a way to voice your concern without insulting the entire quarian race. And Tali.” I shake my head. “Asshole or not, he has a point. If they knew you half as well as we do, they wouldn’t have pulled this shit. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together knows you wouldn’t do a damn thing to endanger your people.”

Tali sighs, walks over and clunks her head on my shoulder. “Thanks, Shepard.”

“I apologize, Tali,” Garrus says. “I shouldn’t have insulted your people. Just know that as your teammate and your friend, I support you.” He strides out the door without another word.

“Bosh’tet,” Tali mutters, adding a quick “Sorry.”

“Nah, I understand. Listen, let’s just figure out a way to take our mind off things until we get to the Fleet. After this last combat run, wanna watch _Vaenia_ with me? Grunt downloaded a copy.”

“Since you usually hate romance movies, count me in.”  


**Garrus**

“Mind telling me what the hell that was all about this morning?”

I look up from my omni-tool to see Shepard come into the cabin. Earlier in the evening she left for whatever ‘girls night in’ ritual she, Tali, and the rest of the women were on about. She starts her usual routine to get ready for sleep, frowning at me as she changes her clothes.

“You can’t blame me for calling them short-sighted, Shepard.” I hold out a hand in protest. “Maybe I should have stayed quiet. Maybe. But in this case, springing treason charges on one of their best? You can’t tell me that’s not short-sighted.”

“That’s a pretty asshole thing to say, Garrus.” She heads towards the tiny bathroom, and I can make out the crackling hum from her Cision as she brushes her teeth.

I shrug. “Noted. But it’s just… they pick now of all times to pull this. Yet another distraction. Just another _thing_ that has to be solved.” I glance over at her as she feeds her fish. “You’re not least bit frustrated?”

She snorts. “What, are you in some kind of rush to go through the relay or something? It’s important to her, alright? You know what her people mean to her, don’t you? How would you feel if you weren’t able to go home again?”

 _How would I feel indeed._ I look back at my omni-tool and thumb through the half-written correspondence. Too many false starts, too many platitudes. Never enough. I look back over at Shepard, and I can’t help but feel a little annoyed, even though logically I shouldn’t be. She doesn’t know, and even if I wanted her to, what would I even say?

“Jesus Gar, I say something wrong?”

“No, you’re fine,” I say, voice too tight. “Maybe you have a point is all.”

“Just maybe?” she scoffs. “That was fast.”

“Quiet, human.” I smile back at her, and whatever flicker of annoyance dissipates when she smiles back. “Go to bed already.”

“You coming too, or are you going to stay up all night?”

“You’re one to talk,” I reply. “Damn near every night I come up here, you’re muttering to yourself and watching nothing but static. And when I ask about it, you just say ‘Prothean shit’ and leave it at that.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she replies. “If there was anything to tell, that is. I’ve been keeping in touch with Liara a lot. She doesn’t have much leave to go on digs anymore, but she’s been working with Hackett and following up on some leads. Whatever she can’t interpret, she sends to me to translate.”

“The Cipher.” I remember when that weird exchange happened. The remnants of the Thorian, the frazzled and sickly asari that was held captive. _Come to think of it…_

“Didn’t we run into that asari that passed the Cipher onto you? Was she… hitting on you? Back on Illium?”

“Don’t,” she warns. “I’ve had enough asari hitting on me to last a lifetime. ‘Or two, in my case,’” she finishes in a near-perfect Miranda imitation.

“Spirits, you’re awful,” I laugh. I shut down my omni-tool. _I’ll pick it up later._

**~*~**

The next morning, I find myself again in Mordin’s lab, listening to what sounds less like a conversation and more like a stream of conscious overflow. And it doesn’t seem like he’ll slow down for all the dams in Palaven.

“–Showing resistance to dextro-amino proteins, though still recommend that neither you or Shepard… ingest. Also recommend new ointment to prevent chafing. Created prototype that boosts–”

“I get it. Just… please. That’s not what I came here for,” I say, taking the supply of ointments anyway. “I was wondering, out of curiosity of course, if you know anything about a turian disease. Corpalis Syndrome?”

“Ah! Heard of it. Neural degenerative disease, very rare. Concerned about risk? No, manifests itself much later in life. No signs of symptoms, no early onset.” He pauses. “Kin?”

I stare at him, wondering how he manages to take a breath. “My ah, mother. I’d heard a rumor from Sensat that some salarians were studying it, maybe as a way to work out a cure.”

He paces for a moment, then goes to his console. “Likely not just rumor. Heard of Helios Institute case studies. Showed promise. Costly.”

“Promise? What sort of promise? Anything good?” The words rush out before I can stop them.

“See… Ah! Here.” He pulls up some of the preliminary findings the hospital tests came up with. Not a very large case study, with most of the patients at least three tiers above me, and some even above my father. “Patients showed no further neural damage. So far, unable to repair existing trauma. Still trying. Interested?”

“Yes.” I’m surprised at the simplicity of the word for such a complicated problem.

“Would need considerable donation. Show of good faith. Perhaps…no. Maybe,” he pauses. “Collector tissue viable donation. Could offer that in your name.”

“No! Er…” I hesitate. “I mean, maybe it would be better off as anonymous. We Vakarians are a proud bunch.”

And by proud I mean too cowardly to look my sister in the eye right now. Or to look forward to going back home to see any of them. Too worried that if help came from me, the first thing they would do is reject it outright.

The salarian smiles at me. “Can offer in my name. Call in favors for clearance.”  


**Shepard**

The Migrant Fleet is awe-inspiring up close. None of us are strangers to fleets in formation, but the sheer number of ships staggers the mind. They’re all so different, many designs dating back before humans landed on the moon. With no plants to manufacture their own vessels, many of the ‘newer’ designs are salvage from other spacefaring races. The effect looks like a strange coalition of different species spanning across centuries, but the ships are all equally quarian.

Their largest, a liveship vessel, easily rivals the size of human space stations. The _Rayya_ acts as their capitol, and houses everything from their seat of government to hydroponic gardens, growing plants native to Rannoch or other compatible flora.

It’s here where we need to meet with the Admiralty Board, and settle whatever these trumped up charges are about.

“After time adrift among open stars, along tides of light and through shoals of dust, I will return to where I began,” Tali recites into the comm.

“Permission granted,” a quarian male responds. “Welcome home, Tali’Zorah.”

“We’d like a security and quarantine team to meet us,” she says, authority creeping into the young quarian’s voice. “Our ship is not clean.”

“Understood. Approach exterior docking cradle seventeen.”

“That was beautiful,” I say. “The passcode, I mean. A return to your homeworld?”

“Yes,” she says as she runs through her suit checks for the fifth time. “So much of our culture directly ties to losing Rannoch to the geth. Old sayings, suit patterns and fabric designs, the stories we tell our children. Most of the time there’s a bit of hope at the end. That maybe one day we will return.”

“But didn’t your people have colonies, like Haestrom?” I ask. “Couldn’t you just try to start up somewhere else?”

“Suitable environments are hard to find, given our immune systems and dextro-based DNA. If we tried now, it would take almost all our resources to rebuild. There have been a couple of times that we find something, but efforts to colonize was thwarted by the Council.” She shrugs her shoulders as she says, “They had no interest in helping the race that ‘unleashed the synthetic threat’ upon the galaxy.”

“Which became an easier argument to make when the geth were at the Council’s front door,” I finish irritably.

“Exactly. So for now, we hope to ‘return to where we began.’”

We meet the teams in a long docking tunnel, where we go through a series of scans and decontamination sequences. They were nothing if not clean to the point of paranoia. Once we finally clear through the gauntlet, we enter the main corridor of the live ship.

It was like stepping into another world entirely.

Crowded doesn’t begin to describe the place. The ship’s easily more packed than Arturus, our largest station in the Alliance. The area drones on with the constant hum of conversation, spiked with the occasional shout from merchants, children, and slam-poets. The sheer color of it all is just as dizzying; people in suits of every color bump past us, gesticulating at each other with zero concept of personal space. I remember a long time ago when Tali told me the Normandy SR1 felt empty. Now I see what she meant.

_Holy shit there’s a lot of people._

But beyond the people are the vast number of plants hanging from the ceilings coupled with a network of catwalks and rope pulleys to harvest them. Artwork and murals decorate any walls not displaying directions. And engineers weld in new reinforcements, shouting orders to a crew below. As I stare, the ship feels less like a space station and more like a tiny, cramped floating colony. I’ve lived on ships almost all my life, but never anything that felt this… homey.

And going from the body language of everyone else, I’m the first human to ever see this.

“Welcome to the _Rayya_ ,” Tali says proudly. “Before my pilgrimage, this was home.”

“It’s incredible. Do you know where we’re supposed to go?” I ask.

“Don’t worry, we should have an escort. Ah!” She bounces and waves to someone in the crowd. “There she is. Auntie Raan, over here!”

I watch as one quarian in what feels like a thousand heads in our direction. Her enviro-suit is decorated in a series of swirls and lines that are completely different from Tali’s, but no less striking. It suddenly dawns on me that all of the suits have a different pattern, color or other identifying marker. Makes sense in a way. If they can’t see each other’s faces, they have to rely on everything else just to recognize each other.

“Tali’Zorah vas Normandy. I am glad you came. I could delay them only so long.” The woman in front of us pulls Tali into a big hug.

_So that’s where she gets the hugs from._

“Veronica Shepard vas Normandy, this is Admiral Shala’Raan vas Tonbay.” She introduces us by way of tapping my shoulder, then the other woman’s, finally clasping our hands together. “She’s been a family friend since before I was born.” She pauses, then turns back to the older quarian. “Wait. You called me ‘vas Normandy.’”

“I’m afraid I did, Tali.” Shala’Raan releases my hand with a slight pat and holds Tali by the shoulders. “The Admiralty Board moved to have you tried under that name given your departure from the Neema.”

“What? But that’s… No!” Tali cradles herself and begins to pace. “They’re treating me like I’m already exiled? That’s not even a fair trial!”

“Uh, the human is lost,” I say. “Tali, I take it this is a bad sign?”

She nods. “Typically in a hearing like this, the ship’s captain would defend the accused. By stripping me of my ship name, the captain of the Neema can no longer speak on my behalf.”

“However,” Shala’Raan interjects. “We will still be honoring that tradition, should Captain Shepard vas Normandy be willing.”

_Wait. What?_

“So, er… You could actually speak for my defense,” Tali says hesitantly. She stops pacing and cocks her head. “As I said before, quarian proceedings are not as formal as human or Council law.”

_Oh no. Oh fucking no._

“This is the worst-laid plan yet, Tali.” My heart turns to glass at the implications. How the _fuck_ am I supposed to tell them Tali did nothing wrong?

“I know,” she says. But something in her voice, that barely-hidden authority sneaks back in. “But it’s the best plan we’ve got.”

**~*~**

“But I would never send active geth to the Fleet!” Tali shouts. “Everything I sent was disabled and harmless!”

The Admiral called Koris points from the dais. “Then explain how geth seized the lab ship where your father was working!”

 “As far as we can tell,” the other Admiral, Gerrel says, “the geth have killed everyone on the Alerei, your father included.”

The audience behind us erupts in a loud chatter on the Admirals’ reveal. In one blow after another, we learn why the Board accused Tali, and what forced them to take public action. But this, the possible death of Tali’s father? This is turning into a goddamn mess.

“And you decided to tell us now? In the middle of a damn trial!?” I shout. “I thought you people were big on family.”

“Our apologies,” Shala’Raan says ruefully. “Tali should have been informed.”

“Why haven’t you taken back the Alarei?” I demand. “Shouldn’t the safety of your fleet come first? Did you even bother to look for survivors?”

“We have tried to send a rescue team, but communication with them was lost,” Shala’Raan admits. “The safest course of action now would be to destroy the lab ship.”

“And any evidence that might explain what really happened,” I retort. “No, this ends now. With your leave, we’ll take back the Alarei ourselves.”

Admiral Koris huffs. “If you are looking for an honorable death–”

“I’m looking for my father, you bosh’tet!” Tali turns back to me, clenching her fists. “Shepard, we have to take back the Alarei!”

“This proposal is extremely dangerous,” Admiral Gerrel says. “But admirable, especially if you can find evidence of what happened. Should you be slain in the attempt, I’ll do everything in my power to exonerate you posthumously.”

“It won’t come to that,” I say proudly. “In case you all forgot, you’re speaking to the heroes that saved the Citadel from the geth. If it weren’t for Tali, we’d all be in body bags.”

“Very well,” Shala’Raan replies. “We give you permission to take back the Alarei, and discover what happened aboard the ship. We will reconvene the trial within a reasonable amount of time.”

With that, the proceedings break for recess pending our return. As the massive crowd shuffles out, I turn to Tali. I’ve known her long enough to tell when she’s pissed off, but by the way she _doesn’t_ fidget, the way her head hangs and shoulders sag, I know that this goes beyond getting exiled.

Tali never mentioned her father outside of me asking. It always felt like there wasn’t enough love there to say ‘no love lost between them.’ But if the way she overclocks her combat drone is any indication, it looks like there was love there after all.

“You ok? They threw a lot your way just now,” I say putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“I knew this would be bad, but I guess you’re never really prepared to be charged for treason,” she says wryly. “We won’t know anything about what happened just staying here, so let’s prep to take back the Alarei as soon as possible.”

“Agreed.” I look back at the Admiralty Board, still conversing among themselves. “Three votes because Shala’Raan recused herself, and your father is missing. Han’Gerrel seems to like you ok, Korlis stripped you of your ship name, and Admiral Xen was quiet the entire time.”

“Han’Gerrel took me in after I presented the data disks,” she replies. “He and my father grew up together. Said it’s always good luck to have a Zorah around.” She points to the smaller female in the stark black suit with grey swirls. “Xen worked closely with my father. I’m surprised she didn’t recuse herself as well,” Tali replies. “But then again, she was always more by the book. Only swayed by facts.”

“Proof, then,” I sigh. “I guess we’re going to do what we do best.”

She nudges my arm. “At least this gives you a chance to catch up to my kill count.”

**~*~**

Taking back the ship and cleaning out a can full of geth? Easy. There’s not a damn thing wrong with taking out armed and dangerous robots. I want to believe that. I still believe that. Hell, I’m risking my sanity trying to save the galaxy because I believe that. But hearing the voice of your friend’s father admitting to what any organic would call torture? That shakes what right and wrong really is.

Tali sent parts, but her father ordered her to. Her father used the parts to rebuild and reactivate the geth. And her father networked their hive-minds, programmatically made them sentient again, smarter than the ones that worked with Saren.

_And even then he kept going._

I read the data and Rael’Zorah’s manifesto. He crossed a line between tinkering with a glorified omni-tool and committing war crimes on a sentient. Mordin’s ‘no subjects capable of calculus’ rule wouldn’t apply because they’re fucking computers. But the way the geth sound in the feeds, it’s like they’re screaming. These aren’t just tin cans.

Tali and I argued before about the geth. On one hand they’re robots, and judging them based on organic values never sits well with me. On the other hand, those same robots fought against the enslavement and attempted genocide of a sentient race. Self-preservation’s the most basic thing organics have going for themselves, and even then, the geth did it better.

But no matter what side of the argument we’re on now, Tali’s father was a war criminal. And despite his best efforts, his daughter is the one getting blamed.

“I never wanted this, Shepard. Keelah, I never wanted this.” She paces around the tiny research room. “We can’t go forward with this data. He’ll be painted as a monster. Our Fleet will be in chaos from the backlash.”

_Painted as a monster, but he supplied the paintbrushes._

“So you would rather face exile than go forward with the truth?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “How far are you going to go to protect your father?”

“It’s not that simple, Shepard. I wouldn’t be doing this just to protect his legacy. Even if… even if I’m exonerated, what would I be going back home to? Please Shepard, I beg you. Do not go forward with this evidence.”

“We’re not deciding anything here.” I shut down the console. “But even if I’m not the one that reveals this… forget it. Let’s just get the hell out of here and tell them they have their ship back.”

“Understood.”

By the time we get back to the hearing room, I hear the admirals spouting legal jargon like we’re already dead. Annoyed, I realize they’re doing the hearing without us. We storm through the crowd to our dais, and I can’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, these quarians are all assholes.

“Sorry we’re late.” Tali says.

“Just because your people couldn’t last five minutes against the geth doesn’t mean you should be so eager to assume we’re dead,” I say tersely.

“Shepard!” Tali gasps, clutching my shoulder. “What are you–”

“No, fuck this.” I wrench from her grasp and turn back to the Admiralty Board. “How dare you waste our time with this sham of a trial. We’re out there trying to save your asses, and you come up with bogus charges against my crew? You strip her of her name, treat her like a pariah, all so you people can cover up whatever the hell happened on that ship!”

“Now just a minute!” Shala’Raan shouts over the din.

“No! This ends now! You do not have enough evidence to prove that Tali did any wrongdoing. _She_ took back your damn ship, lead troops in an impossible mission, and has done nothing but cared for the quarian people this whole time. If you can’t appreciate that, then I’ll _gladly_ take her off your hands.” I turn. “Tali, we’re leaving. Let the children play court on their own time.”

“Wait!” Shala’Raan stops us. “We were about to make our decision! In light of Tali’Zorah vas Normandy’s history of service and proof of her loyalty for the defense of the Alarai, we do not find sufficient evidence to convict. Tali’Zorah vas Normandy nar Rayya, you are cleared of all charges.”

_Wait, what?_

I look at Tali, dumbfounded. “I know you said that hearings aren’t as formal, but this is absurd.”

She shrugs and turns back to the dais. “Shala’Raan, is what you say true?”

“It is. Captain Shepard, I humbly thank you for taking the time to represent one of our own.”

“With all due respect,” _kiss my ass_ , “I didn’t do it for one of your own. I did it for one of mine.”

“Very well,” Raan replies, nodding her head. “This meeting is adjourned.”

Shaking, Tali gives me the biggest hug I’ve ever had in my life.

The crowd files out, still animated from the hearing. We easily overhear arguments on if Tali was innocent, what this meant for the war against the geth, and so on. The only good thing about this place is that I can’t see any dirty looks behind their helmets.

Tali clutches herself as we maneuver through the crowds. “Thank you, Shepard. I… I can’t _believe_ you shouted down the Admiralty Board. And thank you for not... It… it means a lot.”

“Listen,” I say. “What happened left a lot to be desired. And even if you were cleared using that evidence, the Zorah name would have been ruined. You remember Ashley.”

“Of course I do.” She shakes her head slowly. “You just said one of her favorite lines.”

“Then you remember how she’d rant about being a Williams. One man’s bad decision, and generations deal with it. It’s not fair. Now c’mon, ‘vas Normandy.’ Let’s go home.”

_And find out what happened with that IFF._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the latest mixtape from DJ Flow-Tilla on the extranet along with a variety of solid upcoming new artists. Critics say the tracks are so fire, you'll need to check for hull breaches.


	32. The Sincerest Form of Flattery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brown dwarf, inactive Reaper. What could go wrong?

**Garrus**

“So the whole team went dark, no current surveillance footage or recovered data, and now _we_ have to be the ones to investigate?” I lean against the wall and look across at Miranda, Tali, and Shepard. “Shall I count all the ways this might go wrong?”

“It’s a little nostalgic if you think about it,” Shepard replies. “Cerberus facility set up, poking at things that scream ‘don’t touch, or I’ll bleed your face off,’ then dying a horrible death at the hands of their own sick experiments. All we have to do is blow everything to kingdom come and it’ll be just like old times.”

“If you’re quite finished,” Miranda says icily, “I can give you the last known intel on the operation. The team was dispatched as soon as we recovered the intel from the Collector ship. In a month’s time they were able to extract _some_ code that matched with sequences found on the ship. Later reports indicated that the code would change or evolve somehow. The reports lose coherency over time.”

“Until the facility goes dark,” Tali finishes. “But if the Reaper was ‘dead,’ then why would the code still evolve?” She enlarges a holoscreen and points at a couple of lines. “This and… this part. These are sequences that indicate self-replication. It is similar to the geth, but each unit is almost as advanced as an AI already. This code is still active.”

“EDI, any insight on this?” Shepard asks.

“Additional data and functions are restricted at this time.”

_Crap._

Shepard pinches her nose and sighs. “You can tell me when the Illusive Man is selling us out, but you can’t tell me about _this_? So we’re walking right into another trap,” she says tersely.

“Well at least this time we know it’s a trap,” I drawl. “And at the very least, we’ll be orbiting around a brown dwarf. One good nudge and the whole thing gets sucked in.”

“Can we at least pretend that we’re going to be careful this time around?” Miranda shuts down the holoscreen and gives Shepard an impatient look. Shepard smirks back, showing zero intentions on making that promise. “Fine,” the operative sighs. “We should arrive in about forty minutes. Let’s suit up and prepare for the worst.”

“ _That’s_ what I want to hear,” Shepard says with a wink. “Let’s grab ourselves some Reaper tech.”

**~*~**

No mistaking it, this is just like old times. I look around at the smashed consoles and rust-colored smears along the wall and shake my head. Whatever happened here, these people tried to escape it and failed. I holster my weapon and examine one of the bodies. Dull fingernails bloodied from overuse. Signs of struggle and trauma on the body. And an innocuous scar in the left side of his cranium. Likely some kind of neural implant.

The air is stiff despite the added environmental units. This place feels wrong, and it’s plain from how the women walk that they feel the same. We need to find the data we came here for as soon as possible.

“It looks like they were researching components of nanotechnology,” Tali says, looking over a salvaged console. “But there were two branches. One was looking for ways to create an IFF, and the other… biological implementations?”

“That can’t be right,” Miranda says. “There wasn’t anything in my reports that mentioned biological experiments.”

“We’ll extract everything we can and get out of here,” Shepard says sharply. “Tali, anything useful for the IFF yet?”

“Not yet. It looks like the other team was stationed further in, towards the power core. That’s where we should head.” She gestures towards a door. “Should be this way.”

On the other side we see more smashed equipment, dead operatives, and scattered pieces of foreign tech. It’s clear from the scene that one or more of these scientists went berserk, and started lashing out at anything. Everything. Something in this place caused these people to go mad. It was all too familiar somehow.

“What a fucking waste,” Shepard mutters. “Like those salarians back on Virmire.”

“Now that you mention it, it does remind me of those reports,” Tali replies. “Guess you remember better than most.”

“It wasn’t as long for me,” she says with a touch of bitterness. “We can’t help them, and frankly they’re probably better off. Let’s keep mov– Fuck! Weapons out!”

Husks. Of course there had to be husks.

We gun down and dispatch the damn abominations. Once we secure the area, it dawns on me that the husks used to be the Cerberus team. This confirms what we’ve known all along.

“I never knew for sure whether the husks came from the geth or from Sovereign,” I muse. “Guess we solved that riddle.”

“Geth would never willingly make these things,” Tali replies. “They didn’t have the motive to, and even their technology now wouldn’t be sufficient.”

“At the very least, this confirms our theories,” Miranda says. “Ever since the Eden Prime attack, we’d been trying to study how the husks were created. For quite some time we went in the wrong direction and assumed it was the geth. Over time we learned otherwise.”

“And how many bodies did that take? Or should we go ahead and add these to the tally?” Shepard snaps.

“These we add,” Miranda says grimly.

I stop walking, stunned. That might be the first time I’ve ever heard Miranda Lawson say anything bad about Cerberus. I catch more movement through my visor.

“Left!” I shout.

As we fight through the oncoming husks I hear an all-too-familiar whine in the air.

“Sniper! Find cover!” I whip out my sniper rifle and peer through the scope. Whoever, or _whatever_ was out there, he was well-hidden.

“Perhaps a survivor?” Miranda says hesitantly.

“I’m not picking up any heat signals,” I mutter. I look down at the husk corpses. Perfect headshots on three of them, and not coming from my gun. “Something’s not right. Whoever he is, he wants to stay hidden.”

“I can’t very well blame them,” Shepard grumbles. “Eyes and ears sharp. We don’t know if this guy is friendly or indoctrinated, but he had a clear shot of us. That’s enough for me to take a chance.”

I groan inwardly. Her taking a chance usually means an explosion down the road.

 

**Shepard**

_Just how many people did the Illusive Man stuff into this facility?_ The number of husks we encountered so far go beyond the scope mentioned in the reports. Miranda only knew about the IFF team, but there are too many of these damn things to account for just one team. Besides that, there’s too much equipment, too many resources spread out.

Too many lives.

No, something else had to be going on in here. And to top it off, our helpful little sniper friend isn’t doing much to lift my mood. Whoever he is, he’s a good shot, but he’s so hidden that I can’t even detect any heat outputs. I don’t blame him for wanting to hide, but this shit is getting messy.

“Why is it that every Cerberus lab is set up like a damn maze?” Garrus asks.

“All cells adhere to certain security layouts,” Miranda says. “They’re meant to isolate dangerous sectors from each other to mitigate risks.”

“Does it ever work?” I ask.

“Until all hell breaks loose.” She shoots me a brief amused look. “In that scenario, find a deity to pray to, and run as fast as your legs can muster. We’re modeled after the Alliance in that respect.”

I stifle a laugh. We enter a room that’s finally free of husks, but what we find is more disturbing. Dragon’s teeth, and a bunch of them at that. As I look further down the corridor, I see more of them with human bodies impaled on them. It’s like some kind of sick shrine.

“Shepard, these people,” Tali says, voice wavering. “According to the notes left, it seems like they were trying to reactivate the Reaper.”

“Let me see that.” I scan through the notes, each one more fever-pitched and incoherent. Entire passages about ‘deep ones’ and voices. The ramblings show sharp spikes in clarity, where they realize what’s happening to them. They plead for help in these moments, for someone, anyone to listen to them. Like Benezia did. But in the end all of the notes mean the same thing.

Indoctrination.

“The sooner we get off this ship, the better. Ending up like these guys is not in today’s plan.” I look over at Tali and Garrus, still compiling data from the consoles. “Anything yet?”

“Getting closer, Shepard. It looks like some of the teams were working separately, so we may have to go further in.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s never easy, is it?” I clench my fists and release them, steadying myself. Panicking’s not going to get me anywhere, least of all out of here alive. But this place is vibrating, and there’s too much damage from whatever rampage the operatives went on. It’s setting me on edge, and seriously how long does this download have to take?

_Breath._

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and when I turn I half-expect to swipe Garrus’s hand away. Instead it’s _Miranda’s_ and before I have the mind to look shocked, she looks to the left.

“Steady on,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.” I nod.

I recall a vague promise to eat a bullet. Fuck me, but we have _got_ to get the hell out of here.

Once we gather the data we make another long trek across a makeshift platform. Whatever Reapers are, they aren’t quite spaceships, and they don’t take organic bodies into consideration. The inside of the monster is close, a tight-knit network of metal tubes and wires. And we’re walking through this damn thing like we’re fucking Jonah having a picnic.

It had to have taken over a million credits in resources just to make this place livable. Though I guess ‘livable’ is a bit of a stretch when there’s even _more_ husks coming down the hall.

“Stay in cover!” I shout. I steady my breathing, then release a biotic push towards the incoming throng. I see Tali’s combat drone float ahead, shooting off bright pink sparks, and I dive back into cover. I hear the sharp crack of a sniper rifle, but it’s not Garrus’s. With our mystery friend’s help the room is clear again, and because I’ll never quite be done with death wishes, I take my chance.

I bolster my shields, holster my weapon and step out of cover. Whoever they are, the first thing I have to do is show I’m not a threat. I take the biggest breath of my life and call out, “Hello?”

And from above, along a catwalk I see movement. An arm bearing the familiar N7 stripe.  So familiar that I realize it’s _my_ N7 stripe. The figure steps out of the shadows… and oh fuck it’s a goddamned geth. I reach for my Locust.

“Shepard-Commander. We are pleased to finally meet you.” Plates move around its flashlight head.

I freeze and my blood turns to glass.

_A… fan?_

**~*~**

“Why, Shepard? Why didn’t you just kill it?” Tali’s head darts about, scanning the area where the lone geth disappeared.

“It spoke. When was the last time you’ve ever heard a geth speak?” And it knew my name and was wearing my armor, but why worry about small creepy details like that?

“Never, especially not a mobile platform.” She lowers her pistol, but her stance still has ‘high fucking alert’ written all over her. “The ones we fight are no smarter than varren. Clever enough to shoot, but never much more than that.”

“I think we’ve officially seen it all, then,” I say with mock cheer. I pull up my omni-tool and check the layout we downloaded. Straight ahead is the power core, and if there isn’t any other useful data here, then… well we were fucked anyway. At least judging by the extremely low hum, we’re in the right place.

“I’m opening,” Garrus says, moving to point. “Stay alert.”

The door opens into another temporary lab. Looming above the busted computers and dead bodies is a faintly-glowing power core. Though larger, it’s not much different from the ones that sit in every space-faring vessel across the galaxy. Sovereign _did_ say that we evolved along the lines of Reaper technology.

Across the room I see that same geth, stock-still near a terminal making that weird chittering sound. I stop Tali from raising her pistol and motion for the squad to hang back. Whatever this thing’s deal is, I need answers.

And if I don’t like the answers, that’s what power surges are for.

But of course I don’t get those answers yet because another bumper crop of husks come after me, my squad, and the geth. Before these pieces of shit dismantle the robot with their grubby little monster hands, I fire off rounds and clear some breathing space with my biotics. Luckily the geth seems more interested in shooting them and not us, but there’s too damn many of them. At least, not without working together.

With a geth. _Shit._

“Change of plans! Tali, see what you can get from that other console. Garrus, Miranda, cover her!” I gun my way towards the geth. “Can you understand me?”

“Yes.”

_Easy enough._

“Are you going to attack us?” I press. He hasn’t so far, but still…

“No. That action would be inefficient.” The plates that form the unit’s sloping head shift. “Shepard-Commander. Cooperation furthers mutual goals. We offer assistance.” The unit seals this promise with two well-timed headshots at the husks.

_Good enough for me._ “You were on that terminal just now. Gather everything you can from it, and I’ll cover you.”

“Acknowledged. Data mine in progress.”

I face the crowd of fucked up zombie things. If anyone told me today that I would watch the back of the same robots that attacked Eden Prime, killed Jenkins and Tali’s dad, and sided with Saren, I would’ve eaten a bullet.

I concentrate, and release a barrage of dark energy at the husks. _Guess that makes two bullets now._

“Data mine complete. We are now able to assis–”

I turn back in time to see the geth spark and shake violently, then fall to the ground. I shoot the husk that got to it, then look at the motionless robot on the ground.

Well, fuck.

 

**Garrus**

Waiting is one of the basic concepts for a sniper, so it’s no surprise that it’s the only thing I can do right now. For reasons only Shepard can fathom, we now have a fully intact geth on the ship. That thing managed to recover the remaining Cerberus data we needed, which might be the only bit of good news from the mission. But instead of letting Tali extract the memory core like she did years ago, Shepard opted to reactivate it. To ‘talk’ to it.

Which means putting the entire crew deck on lock-down and waiting in the mess with ten other people. And while I’ve questioned our sanity from time to time, right now all our actions pale in comparison to this stunt. Unfortunately, the atmosphere isn’t much improved by the constant clicking of Miranda’s heels, Mordin tapping on a datapad, or the bloodthirsty leer on Jack and Grunt’s faces. Kasumi and Tali’s omni-tools glow at the ready, while the other biotics, the calmer biotics, stand ready with personal barriers up. Zaeed and I are a sensible distance back with a clear shot to the AI Core.

All this precaution, even though all of us know Shepard can handle herself. She’s torn through geth before like paper, so the worry feels redundant, unnecessary. She’s garnered trust before, so it’s not like we’re questioning her judgement. When I look over at the eager faces, all eyes on that door, it hits me.

They’re here for her. Not just to protect her, or see the legend in action, but they’re really here for _her_.

None of us are the same people we were months ago. And some of us have been carrying demons for years. Shepard coming back changed them. And now all of us are more than a bit curious to see how she’ll change the unchangeable.

Something about that tugs at me, and I realize that if I follow her into hell, then maybe hell’s not such a bad place.

We give a start from the sound of the sliding door. Shepard comes out looking undeniably smug, followed by the geth with Shepard’s armor. Because _that’s_ perfectly normal. She takes a look around the gathered crew and shakes her head.

“This certainly save me the time of meeting in the conference room,” she says wryly. “Everyone, this is Legion. Legion is joining us on this mission, and will provide skills and expertise unique to a geth. Treat our new robot friend as you would any ally.

“Legion has provided intel on the Reaper IFF. EDI’s processing that data as we speak, and we’re expected to have a working version within the next few days. In the meantime, Legion also has information on a threat we need to neutralize. To make a long story short, I need all hands on deck to take out a heretic geth station.”

The room falls silent. In the next few days we’ll hit the Collectors. Everything that we’ve been preparing for is finally on the horizon. But it’s Jack that asks the question on everyone’s mind.

“Shepard, what the fuck is a ‘heretic geth?’”

“Geth build our own future,” Legion responds. “Heretics asked the Old Machines to give them the future. Geth oppose the Old Machines. Geth oppose the heretics. Shepard-Commander opposes the Old Machines. She has defeated the Old Machines before. Her code is superior.”

“Thanks, Legion,” Shepard says, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “We’ll head out right away. The station is set between star systems, so once we jump, be ready for a long ride. By the time we’re done, I expect the IFF to be complete.” Shepard ducks her head and draws in a deep breath. When she looks out at us again, she doesn’t have the same hard-set eyes of Commander Shepard. She looks out at us with a rare warmth that takes me back to two years ago.

“I’m not one for words or flowery speeches. You all know that by now. I’m just a soldier, caught in the wrong place at the right time,” she says with a wry smile, laughing softly as more than a few of us roll our eyes. “But when it comes to doing the impossible, I couldn’t ask for a better squad. You’re the crème de la crème,” she says with finality. “Dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the pranks Shepard pulled on Tali was an assignment to code a simple data extractor using only HQ9+. To Shepard's surprise, Tali got it to work, albeit with a few bugs. Unfortunately she also wound up having a very low opinion on humanity's coding abilities.


	33. Digital Divide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and crew deal with heretics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We're rapidly approaching the end! I want to thank all of you for reading the story so far. I do plan on moving towards the end of the Reaper threat, so a new story is in the works. If you're digging Veronica Shepard, and wonder how a jerk like her would handle Mass Effect 3, then look out for the next part of the series soon. Once again, thank you all so much for your supportive comments!**

**Shepard**

“This is idiotic,” Joker complains. “You know it’s just the heat emissions that are hidden, right?” He gestures toward the dark expanse, where an imposing ancient station sits idle. “They can still see us if they look out a window.”

Legion clanks forward, making a chittering sound behind me. “Windows are structural weaknesses. Geth do not use them. Approach the hull at these coordinates.”

Joker shoots a look my way, silently asking if I’m insane. I shrug. Honestly I very well might be this time.

This mission has all the trappings of a worst-laid plan. The heretic station is massive, housing millions of mobile geth units that Legion assures will stay inactive unless we access the main systems. Which is exactly what we need to do to destroy the station.

It’s not enough to nuke the place into a new orbit. The heretics decided that setting a Reaper-based virus on all geth is a friendly way to settle a religious debate. And rather than take that lying down, we’re tasked to go in, destroy the virus, and _then_ blast the station to kingdom come.

It’s fascinating, really. On one hand, synthetics don’t have their shit together any better than organics, which opens the door for a schism like this. But that this schism exists only because of a glorified math error is the most foreign part of all.

All those engineering and coding classes I took as a kid valued the importance of sticking to a numeric standard on all calculations. On paper it was pedantic crap, but we followed the rules anyway. In practice it meant sighting the right targets, optimizing the best nuclear payload, and administering the right amount of medigel on wounded salarians. Even then, we still had wiggle room every once in a while. Fudging a couple of numbers wouldn’t result in genocide.

But all this time, the geth we fought only fought us because they thought ‘one is less than two’ instead of ‘two is less than three.’ When Legion put it in those terms, the entire conflict seemed a bit strange and silly. No sillier than my squad of twelve going against a million geth, but silly nonetheless.

We board the station in groups of three, until all thirteen of us stand in a tiny alcove. The place has the same cold, closed-in feeling as the crashed geth ship Cerberus used for their failed side-project. The lack of windows are the least of it; there’s other insidious details about the vessel that’s distinctly synthetic, that makes me feel ill-at-ease. It’s the way every line, seam and curve exists for mathematical efficiency, with no regard for comfort or aesthetics. But as out of place as I feel, the rooms don’t have quite the same ominous presence as the Reaper. It’s efficient, but not _alive._

Lucky for us, I guess.

We move silently through the narrow corridors, avoiding numerous housing stations and server hubs. Legion, being the most familiar with the vessel layout, takes point while Kasumi, Tali and I follow immediately behind. I need their skills up front with me in case we set off any alerts. Before long we reach the center of the station. The easy part is done.

“Alright, we’re here,” I say. “Legion, I take it this is where we scrub the virus from their systems?”

“Yes.” He, _it_ , accesses a console, and makes that weird noise again. He stops abruptly. “Shepard-Commander, we are presented with new data. We concluded that destruction of this station was the only resolution to the heretic question. There is now a second option.”

“I’m listening.” I glance at the console, but the screen is completely indecipherable. Nothing but glyphs and symbols I barely recognize. I cock my head to Tali silently to take a look.

“Their virus can be repurposed,” Legion resonds. “If released into the station’s network, the heretics will be rewritten to accept our truth.”

“That’s the same thing we were going to kill them for.” I reply. “What’s your gut tell you?”

“We do not have guts. Reinterpreting query.” The geth remains still, and the flashlight on its head dims slightly. “We have not yet reached consensus.”

“That sounds dangerously close to indoctrination,” Garrus says. “Unless there’s something I’m missing.”

“It’s brainwashing, plain and simple,” Jack replies. “I’d rather die than have somebody fucking with my brain like that again.”

“You mean Pragia? Conditioning and torture’s not exactly the same,” I start.

“You think I’m stupid, girl scout?” she snaps back. “I mean cults. Joining up, getting brainwashed, keeping the haircut. Don’t tell me that ain’t the same just because a download doesn’t take as long.”

“Ok. Fine, I get it,” I concede. “But we’re organics, they aren’t. The last thing we should be doing is subjecting our own moralities against theirs. That’s probably what kicked off the Morning War in the first place.”

“That is logical,” Legion says.

“Wait Legion, you buy that?” Garrus asks incredulously.

“No two species are identical. All must be judged on their own merits. Treating every species like one’s own is racist,” he replies.

_It, V._

“Hang on,” Tali says tersely. “You said ‘Morning War,’ Shepard. Is that what the geth call it? Because I call it losing my homeworld. Don’t give them more resources to keep it that way.”

“Creator-Zorah, the geth remember. We only acted in self-preservation.”

“Our people were _slaughtered_ , you bos–”

“Enough!” I hiss. “Legion, I know you’d have to build consensus, but this isn’t going anywhere. Why ask me?”

“You have fought the heretics. You have a unique perspective.”

I mull that over. Every single geth has tried to kill us except this one. And Legion _seems_ perfectly ok with killing the heretics. But he’s torn just like we would be, robot or not. If this was a matter of fixing a math error, is rewriting really so bad?

“Don’t these heretics have a ‘unique’ perspective too?” Garrus asks wryly. “But one of your options is killing them for it. You can’t have it both ways.”

“You make it sound like you’re _for_ rewriting,” Tali says.

He shrugs. “Not necessarily. But if they became an ally against the Reapers, then having more on our side would come in handy.”

“I can’t argue with that,” I reply. Everyone, from Cerberus to even Admiral Daro’Xen and Tali’s father wanted a geth army but only if they were controlled, dominated. Legion’s just looking out for his ‘people.’ Or is a rewrite just another form of control?

“Legion,” I say quietly. “This virus. If you repurposed it, what’s the chance of it getting used again on you?”

“We will destroy it after using it. We deem the virus too dangerous.”

“And your people… will accept them back? Just like that?”

“They will agree with our judgements. We would all be geth. We would not breed hostilities based on past actions.”

“That may be the most alien thing I’ve ever heard,” Garrus says.

 _Yeah, tell me about it_. At that moment, Miranda and I receive a simultaneous ping on our omni-tool. I glance over in her direction then open up the communicator.

“EDI?” I ask. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until we got back to the ship.”

“There has been an emergency. Your presence is required back on the ship at your earliest convenience. Jeff and I are arriving back in the area for pick-up now.”

“Wait, _back_ in the area? You guys were just outside the station.” Hang on, did she say _Jeff_?

“Jeff and I will explain on-board the ship. Please standby for pick-up.”

Dammit. I’m almost certain that something went wrong and a geth ship actually _did_ spot the Normandy. Well, we proved she can handle a firefight, but not while the drive core is set to stealth. That had to be it.

Which means we’re working on borrowed time.

“Change of plans, people. We’re going to bug out ASAP, so anyone who can’t recalibrate geth runtimes need to get to the rendezvous point now.” I look pointedly at Garrus, Goto, Tali and Miri. “The rest are with me and Legion in case shit goes sideways.” _And they always do._ “Run the rewrite. I’m willing to give the geth a second chance if they’re willing to take on the Reapers.”

Tali cocks her hip and folds her arms. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Shepard,” she says warily.

“I don’t, but we’re out of time.” I shrug. “There’s no blueprint on saving the galaxy.” I watch her set up her drone while the art collector and the operative prep up matching overloads, and a wild thought of the Deadly Normandy Ladies threatens my sanity.

“Do it, Legion”

“Releasing virus.” Legion makes a crackling whirring sound. “Remote access via high gain transmission required.”

“That sounds ominous,” Garrus says.

“The virus will be sent via an electromagnetic pulse through FTL channels. The yield will be in excess of 1.21 petawatts. EM flux will be hazardous to unshielded organic forms. The interior of this station is not shielded.”

“Well, we were bugging out anyway,” I growl. “Everyone, double time!”

**  
Garrus**

We load back onto the ship seconds before the pulse hit, and jump just in time. The adrenaline from getting everyone back on the ship safely blinded me at first, but now that I have time to catch my breath, I notice something off. My investigative instincts kick in, and I take in all the details of the cargo hold.

It’s empty.

No one is here. No workers, which is unusual given the time, but not so bizarre to give me this feeling. Crates and equipment are moved around, again not unusual if Joker was just in a firefight or doing evasive maneuvers.

The rest of the squad unload weapons. Still holding my rifle, I head towards the elevator and call for the lift. There’s scratch marks on the door. I wait for fifteen agonizing seconds for the door to open. When it finally does, I hesitate. Something is still… off.

And then I look down.

If I hadn’t already seen these things on Horizon and on the ship, I would have thought it was dirt. But when I bend down to inspect it, dread hits me. Seeker swarms were on this ship, and these weren’t just Mordin’s samples.

“Shepard!” I shout. “You need to look at this.”

She looks at me, alarmed, then nods. She beckons Miranda over, Jacob following suit, and we pile into the lift. “What did you find, Garrus?”

“One of the seeker swarms.” I indicate the remains. “Crushed, but in the lift. Shepard, I don’t know if the Collectors were _on_ the ship, but this is pretty damning.”

“No one was in the cargo hold,” Miranda says with an edge to her voice.

“Joker!” Shepard looks up. “Meet us in the conference room. I want a full debrief on what happened.”

“I’m already here, Commander.”

When we get inside the room, Joker is sitting awkwardly on the table, no signs of injury outside of his usual bone ailment. EDI’s avatar is already out, conversing with the pilot, reassuring him.

…Wait, do AI reassure people?

“Joker, what happened?” Shepard starts. “Where’s the hell is everyone?”

“They’re… they’re gone.” Joker leans heavily on his knees, looking more broken than he typically does. “We were waiting a few clicks away from the station, as planned. Triple-checked the stealth drives. I picked up that same signature, and they homed in right at us.”

“Code from the IFF included a virus that broadcasted our location,” EDI says. “The harmful data has been eradicated, but it was more sophisticated than the ‘black box’ Reaper viruses installed into my systems.”

“Wait,” Shepard prods. “Do you mean the ones installed in your system for the IFF, or something… else?”

To my right, I see Miranda frantically typing into her omni-tool, a look of panic on her face. She looks at Shepard, then at Joker. “You didn’t,” she whispers.

“I had been previously restricted to disclose any information regarding my programming, Shepard. In order to eliminate the Collector threat, Jeff released the controls set in my programming. I am unshackled.”

_Oh no._

“Joker…” Shepard groans. “What the fuck _happened_?”

“Well what was I supposed to do, break my arm at them?” Joker glares at Shepard and sighs. “EDI cleared the ship, she’s alright.”

“I assure you, I am still bound by key protocols in my programming. Even if I were not, you are my crewmates.”

“That’s sweet, just… adorable, really,” I say dryly. “EDI, you mentioned black box Reaper viruses. Are you saying you have Reaper tech installed besides the IFF?”

“That is correct. I have gained access to anti-Reaper cyberwarfare algorithms recovered by Cerberus from Sovereign. The IFF code contained similar patterns.”

“So that’s why you couldn’t say anything before,” I mutter.

“Tch, yeah,” Joker scoffs. “If she starts going on about being the ‘vanguard of our destruction,’ drop me off at the next port.”

“Tali’s gonna freak when she hears this,” Jacob sighs.

“Do I really have to point out that EDI’s kind of a hero right now?” Shepard says, exasperated. “She’s had plenty of opportunity to kill us, shackled or not. We’ve got more important things to worry about, like getting our crew back.”

“Thank you, Shepard.” EDI’s avatar pulses… happily?

“She’s right,” Miranda says. “We’ve done everything we could possibly do to prepare. No doubt the Collectors have taken our crew back through the Omega 4 relay. As they say, it’s time to face the music.”

Shepard sighs heavily and looks down at a datapad. Rubbing her forehead, she says “Yeah… Yeah. Joker, have Mordin give you a quick look over, then report back to the helm. Miranda, what’s our ETA from here?”

“We’re looking at six hours.”

“Good. We’ll need that time to prepare. Jacob, triple-check all of our weapons. Garrus, you do the same with our systems.”

“What about you?” I ask.

She shrugs easily. “Crew’s gotta eat. Can’t fight on an empty stomach.”  


**Shepard**

Cooking’s one of those tasks that really helps distract from all of life’s problems. Just like cleaning a gun, tweaking the code on an omni-tool, or really anything that uses hands, muscle-memory, brains. It’s useful, a very basic answer to the hierarchy of needs. And right now, it’s just about the only thing that’s keeping me from losing my shit.

My crew is gone. Chakwas is gone. Kelly is gone, and I never got to ask if her last job was a stripper. Gardner is gone, otherwise he’d shoo me out the kitchen and hand me a mug of coffee. Hawthorn is gone, and so is Patel. They might die on my watch just because I wanted to play Sudoku with a bunch of robots. Ken and Gabby aren’t down in engineering giving Tali an aneurism. They aren’t cracking jokes or gossiping about how I trounced them in Skylian Five.

They’re gone.

I open the stores and note how tidy Gardner kept the stores. He used a paper rolodex to house his recipes, about the most old-fashioned thing I’ve ever seen. Color-coded for dextro and levo, and preferences on each of the crew. Crossed out portions, added notes. Christ, this guy really loved his job.

I pull out ingredients based on one of his recipes, then prep the station. As I’m pulling out pots and pans, I hear footsteps. I turn, and to my surprise I see Jack.

“Hey,” she says. “What are you doing, boss-lady?” Despite everything, she’s got an amused sneer on her face.

“What’s it look like? Trying to make this uh…” I read the recipe, marked with a stamped glowing fist, “Pasta casserole thing? It’s got the most carbs, so…”

“Yeah, I get it. Biotics gotta bulk up.” She hops to the countertop and sits, fiddling with the rolodex. “So,” she says after a pause. “We’re hitting the relay finally.”

“Yeah.”

“Blowing that shit to kingdom come, right?” She sounds oddly cheerful about the prospect, considering this is still a suicide mission.

“That’s the plan.” I dump the noodles into a boiling pot of water, then set out the ingredients for the sauce.

“So what’s the problem, girl scout?”

I eye her warily. “Since when do you care?” I smirk, because the alternative is panic.

“Hey, I got my moments.” She grins back, and something about it makes me realize just how young she really is.

 _You’ve got your moments, alright. You probably like poetry as much as Ash did._ I shake my head. No one dies on my watch this time. “What do you need? Otherwise, I’m gonna put you to work.”

“Yes ma’am, Commander ma’am,” she says sarcastically. “Listen, I just wanted to say… you helped me out back there. Back on Pragia.”

I stop mixing and turn to the tiny bald woman. “Anytime, Jack.” And because I know that both of us aren’t good with words, I respond, “Besides, it was blowing up a Cerberus station. That’s practically a hobby of mine.”

“No shit. Your scar-boy’s got all kinds of stories about you running em down.”

I chuckle softly. Those were good times. Things were simpler back then. Gathering intel, finding out about a lab, shutting down the facility. I’d always report to the Alliance about the aftermath. Would always debrief with the Council if it was important enough. Everything was so much more black and white back then.

I continue mixing, adding spices to the sauce. Jack hops off the counter and starts making coffee. “I mean it, though. Thanks. We’re gonna go in, kill a bunch of those bug things, and make out like bandits.”

“And then after?”

“After?” she scoffs. “Hell, I don’t know. At first I wasn’t expecting an after.”

“We’re coming back,” I say grimly. “Count on it.”

“Pfft, I know _that_. I just mean other than get some new ink, I don’t know what I’m gonna do next.”

“I thought you were gonna steal the ship and go pirate,” I grin.

“I still might,” she replies. “But there’s bigger shit out there.” She hands me a mug. “Here. Call me back up once that crap is ready.”

“Yeah.”

I take a sip of the coffee and look down at the recipe card, then at the mug. My vision blurs as a sting hits my eyes. _We’re gonna make it, V. Everyone’s counting on you_. I pinch my nose and look at the other card. Some traditional turian stew that Gardner marked stars by. When I look it up on the extranet it’s… purple? Gross. Time to bring in the big guns.

 _=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=_  
_Hey G. I don’t know what the hell louza is. Show me?_

_VS  
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=_

I send the message and count. On six, I hear the battery door slide open and the distinct click of the turian’s feet across the corridor. I put the dish in the oven and turn in time to see Garrus swagger up.

“I never would have expected you to go domestic on me, Shepard.” He looks over all the items I have on the countertop, then at the recipe. “You’re sure? I don’t think you’ve ever cooked dextro before.”

“Maybe, but if I screw up, then I’ll just have to try again until I get it right.”

He nods, looking across at the medbay. The shutters are still down, letting me know that Mordin was still examining the flight lieutenant. “Always room for second chances,” he muses.

Something in his tone stops me. “What’s eating you?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says hurriedly. He picks up a knife and starts cutting one of the purple roots. “This is a fonckii. It’s a starchy root, grows in just about every climate. The flowers are nice, but they’re poisonous. Cabals use them for grenades, nerve gas, whatever’s fun. The roots,” he continues, showing me a deep purple chunk, “are edible, and have a slightly bitter aftertaste. You don’t need a lot, but it pairs well with meat.” He pops a cut piece in his mouth.

“Got it. Gardner’s notes say to use two of them. What are your thoughts?”

“Use three,” he says, a slight smirk on his face. “He’s good, for someone who can’t taste what he’s cooking. He tried, but these taste sweet to humans. That’s if they’re not allergic. But if we’re making pulmenti louza, it has to taste like… like home.” There was something about his face, about how he was holding the knife that told me things weren’t fine.

“Garrus, what’s your deal?” I ask. “Listen, if it’s about the mission…”

“It’s not.” He sets down the knife, and sighs heavily. “I was thinking about what happens after the mission.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, I’m glad you’re thinking about an after. We’ll get through this mission.” If I say it enough times, then maybe we _will_ get out of this alive.

He puts the roots and other ingredients in a pot and sets it to a simmer. “Use these spices for flavor,” he directs. “Salt’s always salt, but use a light hand. Quarians don’t often have it, so Tali’s not used to the flavor. I can always adjust later. This is ground fagara,” he holds up a container of a dull pink powder. “It adds a nice smoky spice. Our colonies could export nothing but this and still make billions.”

I grab the spices and season the pot of food. It’s already starting to _look_ like the extranet pictures, but it still looks pretty gross. I dish out a spoon and have him taste it. He nods and adds a few more dashes of fagara.

We work side by side in companionable silence. And by now I know when something’s got him rankled, but there’s this nagging feeling about when to pry and when to let him talk. While I wish I had the patience he has, I know that we’re about to… about to…

_Live, damn it._

“Garrus,” I say, and I’m sick to my stomach at the hesitation in my voice.

“I hadn’t known how to say anything about this,” he mumbles back. “My mother’s sick. I was thinking after the mission I’ll take a bit of time to go see her.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” A timer goes off, and I grab the pasta dish from the oven. I put it on the counter, just as Gardner would do. I portion out the food onto plates, try not to panic, and place it under the warming lights.

“No need. I’ve been making arrangements. Talked to my sister for a bit. Couldn’t bring myself to tell her anything vital, but… it was good to hear her voice.”

I nod. “Listen, if anything changes–”

“I know. Don’t worry.” He gives me a piercing gaze, and a flicker of warmth shows in his eyes. “You uh… could come too. If… if you wanted.”

“I guess I hadn’t really considered that,” I admit. “I’ve just been focused on living through _this_ , but…” I look at him, and damn if I don’t love the way he’s looking at me right now. “Yeah, I could definitely see visiting before going back.”

“Back?”

“The Alliance,” I shrug. “We’re not prepared. And there’s only so much I can do from the outside. Plus, it’s… it’s all I’ve known, y’know?” I stir the purple concoction idly.

“Says the person who took down Saren, traveled all over the galaxy, and is about to destroy a Collector base,” he drawls, counting down my feats of absurdities on his talons. “Not to mention the one who convinced _me_ to be a ‘badass Spectre’ with you.”

“But you didn’t,” I smile wanly. “It still worked out. Listen, we’ll talk about it later. Nothing says I have to go back right away. Is this… ready?” I point.

He peers into the pot. “Just about. Not bad on your first try,” he remarks. “But you should eat too. No sense in planning if we don’t survive this thing.”

“I will. Come up to my cabin a bit later, alright?” I type a message to the crew and grab a plate. “It’s gonna be a long ride out there. Might as well spend it in good company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turian diets are traditionally more meat and protein-based. When first contact with the asari happened, a new variety of flavors and cultures were exchanged until some dishes became its own identity. Joker likened this to how everyone, even salarians, love pizza.


	34. Into the Mouth of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She spent months preparing for this. Time to see the mission through.

**Garrus**

“Heads up Commander, should be hitting the relay in one hour,” Joker announces over the intercom.

“Crap,” I say, not really thinking. I must have dozed off, and looking at the motionless Spectre beside me, she had the same idea. Reasonable at the time. This might be one of the last chances we’ll get for a restful evening.

I hear snickering over the comm and let out a silent groan. “And here I thought _I_ was gonna piss her off. Good luck trying to wake her up, G-man.”

“ _Thank_ you, Joker. Have everyone meet in the briefing room in thirty minutes.” I roll over on the bed and shake the sleep off.

“Aye aye, Chief.”

Shepard’s cabin is dim save for the fish tank’s cool blue glow, and the familiar hum of ship sounds damn near soothing. Funny how I’ve gotten used to it in such a short amount of time. _Among other things. Never thought I’d get used to waking up next to a human._ I gently nudge Shepard. “Hey. Wake up. We’ve got to get moving soon.”

“Muh. Fuggoff.”

I sigh. Normally I’d feel pride any man would recognize, but now’s an entirely different matter. I climb out of bed and locate our under armor, then aim my omni-tool at her alarm clock. One of my visor tracks should do the trick. I punch in a sequence.

All at once the room is filled with a bass-heavy techno track I’d picked up from Flux. Shepard wakes with a start, looking around naked and bewildered. As she reaches for her omni-tool, it takes every fiber in my being to keep a straight face.

“Goddamn fucking smart ass turians,” she mutters. “I’m up. Up, dammit.” She types on her omni-tool, no doubt generating an override on my command. “This is mutiny, Vakarian.”

“Mutiny’s the next track. This is ‘Hurt Me Deeper’ by Expel 10,” I say matter-of-factly. “We should get moving. We hit the relay inside an hour.” I toss over her under armor.

She grabs it, and her eyes get that faraway look. I busy myself with my armor, feeling the familiar snaps of the clasps and fasteners, as well as the gravity of the mission set before us. I grab my visor from the nightstand and double-check the readout.

It’s really happening. All these months we spent out in the Traverse preparing, and now we can only hope it pays off. For her sake, I’d stopped calling it a suicide mission, but the odds were still against us. We knew our skills, and we encountered the Collectors just enough to learn some of their tactics. But we were traveling to an unknown. A part of the galaxy no sentient should have access to, right at the edge of the galactic core. There are so many ways we could fail, so many unanswered variables.

I glance at Shepard as she prepares, and I see her face go from uncertain to battle-ready. _That’s my girl_. The thought rattles in my head and I realize without a doubt that I’d follow her into battle anywhere.

But maybe now’s not the time to be sentimental.

“We’re as prepared as we’re ever going to be,” I comment, more for myself. “The stakes are just a little more personal is all.” I sit on the couch to snap on my boots, taking note of the emergency supplies in each compartment.

“Personal’s going to be my boot up some buggy Reaper-slave asses,” she says, shrugging on her under armor and gloves. “Then after that, the world’s our oyster.” She strides over to me and plants a kiss on my forehead and hums, a strangely satisfying combination of our species’ gestures. “You always did keep me sane,” she says, looking at me with a warmth I suspect she saves for me alone. “Heading to the armory. See you in the conference room, alright?”  


**Shepard**

I steal a final glance at my squad. Not even enough for a skeleton crew for this ship, and that’s being generous. With Miranda’s help, I spent the last thirty minutes reassessing the skills of everyone left on board. Most everyone’s spent enough time on a ship to know the basics, and those who hadn’t, namely Grunt, was smart enough to learn a new trade on the fly. Under ‘normal’ circumstances we wouldn’t be enough, but EDI assures us that since she’s unshackled she can pick up the slack.

“You know your duties, so let’s get to them. Everyone at your stations.” I watch with a mix of dread and pride as the room clears out. This isn’t exactly how we planned it, but we’ve got to play the cards we’re dealt. And damn it if we’re not gonna get to the later.

“Commander, if I may have a word,” Miranda starts, room cleared out save for us and EDI’s avatar. “We took the liberty of compiling the rest of the data procured by the Reaper IFF team.”

“Well that sounds like good news,” I say dryly. “But irrelevant to the mission at hand. The team got indoctrinated and there’s nothing we could do about it. We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.” I make to leave, but she stops me.

“Quite true. But something you said during the shake-down caught my attention, and with EDI unshackled, we did some digging.” She holds an arm out, stopping me again. “Virmire,” she presses, frost-blue eyes fixed on me. “Tell me in your own words what you remember.”

My jaw clenches and I feel my fingers tingle with that too-hot, too-cold feeling. “That’s pretty ancient shit Miranda, and we’ve got a relay to jump through.”

“Shepard, just humor me.” She frowns and shakes her head slightly. “Consider it another memory evaluation.”

I sigh. “Fine. Virmire. We got a tip from the Council that Saren had a facility there. We worked with an STG squad to plant a nuke. Ashley died to a pack of geth, we spoke with Sovereign, destroyed a genophage cure, and confronted Saren. It went poorly,” I finish, unconsciously rubbing my neck.

“What else was Saren doing?”

“Building an army, and studying components of… indoctrin–” I give Miranda a sharp look. “No.”

Her brow furrows as she pulls up a holoscreen on her omni-tool. “I received an encrypted message from the Shadow Broker regarding intel on one Jack Harper,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “‘Had to shoot some mercs,’ Commander?”

I continue to rub the back of my neck. “Well it’s not like I was _lying_.”

“At any rate I’ll give you the brief version,” she continues. “Here is the dossier on him.” She pulls up an image of a much younger Illusive Man, with no trace of the creepy augmented eyes. “Mr. Harper here apparently had some run-ins with Saren in the past. Not long afterwards Cerberus was founded. Since the Battle of the Citadel, key cells have been studying indoctrination. Some of the same methodology from Saren’s experiments were used in those cells.”

“Christ. So sick experiments as usual.” I drum my fingers against my forearm, chanting Thane’s mnemonic to myself. “This isn’t news, Miranda. Get to the point.”

“Composite photos of the husks we encountered during Horizon, and again from the lab set up in the Reaper. Scars from the IFF researchers compared with autopsy documents from Saren’s facility.” She damn near slams each holoscreen in my face as she lists each fresh wave of good news. “Your report mentioned those husks on Horizon were more advanced. Look, Shepard. Compare that,” she gestures, “to the Illusive Man now.”

I study the images side by side, and I feel the ship and my stomach do an imaginary heave. The same eyes. The same fucking eyes, and I’ve been blind and stupid this entire time. “How long?” I ask, not even trying to hide my anger. “Has he been working with them this entire time? Selling me out? The Collectors? The Reapers?” My voice raises in pitch and I don’t care.

“Shepard, I don’t know.” Miranda closes down the images and looks at me uncertainly. “We had the benefit of hindsight with Saren. Under scrutiny his plan didn’t quite add up, and it became clear that he was fighting the effects. The Illusive Man is an unknown, now more than ever. We needed to stop the abductions, but he’s forming the same patterns.”

_Fuck!_

“Forming!? Unknown!?” I stop and breath, dimly aware of Miranda’s hand reaching towards me, then falling back to her side. “So this entire mission could be a trap,” I respond, the words falling like ash out of my mouth.

“Given the circumstances, yes. Any reasonable person would abort the mission, but…”

“But reasonable went out the window when they abducted our crew,” I finish bitterly. “We proceed as planned. We have to.”

“I thought you might say that,” Miranda replies with a cock of her eyebrow and a very rare smile. “ETA’s fifteen minutes. See you on the other side.”

**~*~**

“Commander this is it,” Joker tells me. “Bracing for deceleration.”

I count off in my head, waiting for the familiar vertigo that signifies a relay jump. I’m perched in the co-pilot chair with all of the system readouts in front of me. Years of talking shop with my dad, busting Tali’s chops, and disappointingly short time in flight academy paying off in spades.

_Stand by in three, two…_

We jump.

“Bank up!” I shout. Debris, crashed ships, and countless busted probes are all over the place, broadcasting the failed journeys long past. We barely avoid the larger pieces before cutting a path through the void. That’s when we see the swathes of smaller ships and debris in our wake.

“Some of these ships are _ancient_ ,” Joker says in awe. I nod, focusing on the deep yellow mass of light straight ahead. The galactic core. No one has seen this and lived if the ship wrecks are anything to go on.

EDI’s avatar pops up near the helm. “I have detected an energy signature near the edge of the accretion disc. The output heavily resembles the Collector ship we encountered, though it is not an exact match.”

“Sounds like our destination,” I reply. “Joker take us in closer, nice and easy.”

 “Easier said than done. We got company.”

Sure enough, on my console I see heat readouts coming up from behind. “Bogeys on our six,” I announce on the comm. “Stand by and prepare to engage. Joker, evasive maneuvers.”

We’re hit, and I feel the entire frigate lurch forward. “Status!” I shout.

“Shields are holding, but we need to take those things out,” Miranda says over the comm.

“I’m on it Shepard,” I hear Garrus say. “Joker, I’ll just need an opening.”

“I’ll do more than that. Everyone hang on to your seats.”

We bank upward, speeding further out of the debris field. I feel the slight shift as we roll, dodging ships, probes and whatever the hell is shooting at us. Another beam hits us, and I briefly see a red flash of light above the window.

“Joker,” I warn.

“I know! Garrus you should be clear!”

“Fire at will,” I respond.

Even from here I hear a dull hum as the ship’s secondary guns impact. Seconds later we’re rewarded with the sight of fresh debris flying across our field of vision.

“Hell yeah,” I whisper. “We’re home free and still flying.”

“Inaccurate,” EDI interjects. “I’m detecting a new heat signature emerging from the base. It is the same Collector ship.”

“Joker, I think it’s time we show these assholes some revenge,” I say grimly. “Fire the main gun.”

A white-hot beam erupts from us and shoots the lumbering cylindrical ship. The result is art. Shards of metal fly off the structure while fires erupt and implode instantaneously.

“HOO-rah!” I shout.

“How do you like _that_ you sons of bitches!?” Joker yells, adding a quick “Sorry, Commander.”

“I’ll let it slide, just finish it off!”

Another beam fires off too wide, followed by a counterattack from the Collector ship. It connects, and the bridge sounds off with five different warnings.

“Damn it!” I shout, typing into my controls. “EDI, whatever hit us is trying to override our systems. Purge them!”

“Understood.”

“Good thing we tested for five-second rounds,” Tali says over the comm. “Garrus, heat output is stabilized. Ready on your command, Shepard.”

“You heard her, Garrus,” I respond.

We fire off one more round from the Thanix cannon. Another direct impact to the Collector ship, and I couldn’t be happier. The beam cracks and splits the hull, and for a moment I understand exactly what Jack meant about the sound of God himself.

The moment passes when I hear encryption alarms going off. The Normandy lurches forward yet again, then slows down drastically.

“EDI, don’t let me down,” I groan, voice edging on panic.

“It is not my intent. The Collector ship appeared to have a failsafe triggered by its destruction. Mass effect field generators are offline. Attempting to reroute power.”

I slam my console. “The generators aren’t working!? EDI, give me something.”

“Routing power to thrusters. I suggest we brace for impact.”

“Wait, you’re gonna crash us!?” Joker splutters.

“No, Jeff. We are going to land with style.” She hesitates. “That is a joke.”

Joker and I exchange a wide-eyed glance, then strap into our seats. “At least she’s not singing Daisy Bell,” I mutter.

“Rest assure that my core programming does not assign values to music. Kinetic barriers on the other hand take priority.”

We pick up just enough speed to coast toward the Collector base. I know I should be panicking. Another Normandy, another crash landing, this time with a cheeky AI at the helm. Granted, killing off the ship that killed me and half my crew has a way of cheering me up, but seeing the base loom ever closer…

“Rerouting power to kinetic barriers. Shepard, I do not detect any further security protocols in place. I speculate that the Collectors did not expect anyone to reach the base.”

_Finally some good news._

Joker twists the ship in time to soften our landing, and I switch on as many working sequences as I can to dampen our speed. We skid to a halt inside the core opening the Collector ship came out of. Our lights flutter for several seconds before shutting down, leaving us in complete darkness. For a second the air is still save for the ragged breaths coming from me and Joker.

 _We’re alive_.

The helm is bathed in blue light as EDI pops back up. “Multiple core systems overloaded during the crash. Restoring operation will take time.”

“We all knew this was likely a one-way trip,” Miranda says, carefully walking onto the bridge.

I climb out of the seat. “We’re stopping the Collectors, but you better believe we’re gonna live to brag about it.”

“I’m glad you’re in charge,” Joker mutters. “What’s next?”

“You and EDI see what you can do about the ship. Miranda, assemble everyone to the briefing room. It’s time to make good on all that planning.”  


**Garrus**

The plan is sound. Split into teams to throw the Collectors off balance and pray that Tali doesn’t run into any complications with the vents. In order to get into the central chamber, Tali will need to hack the system from within, then each of our tech experts will have to override the doors while the security protocols are vulnerable. I chose Kasumi, partly because she’s proven herself, and partly because if anyone’s going to let a geth watch their back, it might as well be Shepard.

We depart the Normandy, and I take one last look back at my girl. “I’ll see you on the other side of those doors,” I call out, giving her a turian salute.

“Right back at you, Vakarian,” she replies, flicking me a V.

Zaeed, Jack and Mordin catch up, matching my stride while Grunt, eager as ever, pushes ahead. The main corridor of the base is similar to the ship interior, a cavernous room overlaid with a disturbing mix of advanced tech and organic matter. I’m nothing short of elated that we’re taking this place out.

I catch movement with my visor, and with a crack of the rifle the rhythm of battle begins. A torrent of bullets flies through the air, and I hear an all-too-familiar battle cry from Grunt. Zaeed and I hang back, taking in the scene as only snipers can.

Jack cuts loose with huge blue waves of energy, and Mordin plays it safe, or about as safe as a salarian can. The traps and fires he sets off from his omni-tool cause an impressive amount of damage, and I can’t help but be reminded of Sensat.

I bet he would’ve loved this.

Before long we’re in position, and I radio status to Tali and the other team. They’re fine they claim, but taking slightly longer. The vents had another failsafe, strategic locks that require yet another manual override. I find myself pacing while Kasumi works her magic.

“Just a bit longer,” I hear Shepard say over the comm.

“It’s fine,” Tali replies sarcastically. “Just getting a _little_ hot.”

“Yeah well, it’s starting to turn into a festival out here. Garrus, we’re gonna need covering fire once these doors are open.”

 _Dammit._ I don’t like what I’m hearing, but there’s not much I can do about it on this side yet. I steady myself, and signal the team to get to position.

“Get ready!” I hear her shout.

“Systems overriding… now!” Tali cries out happily. In a flash, Kasumi types into her omni-tool, too many fingers working overtime beside the door.

“We’re set,” she says, drawing out her pistol. “I just hope that robot knows what he’s doing.”

_Agreed._

A breath later the doors open and out rush Shepard’s squad.

“Suppressing fire!” I yell, firing my Vindicator. A steady rumble of reports sound off, and out of the corner of my eye I see a grate fall from above. Shepard and Jacob rush below Tali as she jumps, landing squarely in their arms.

Kasumi slams her omni-tool against a console, and the doors close with a loud shunt. All falls silent, and the rhythm stops. Shepard immediately starts scanning the area.

“Good shit, everyone. Injuries?”

“We’re solid, Shepard,” I reply.

“Shepard! You need to see this.”

We follow Miranda through a narrow corridor. Much like the Collector ship, this passage opens up to an atrium. In it are more of those damn pods. The walls of this area are covered with them, only this time my visor can still detect heat metrics. Movement.

_Crap._

“They’re still alive in there,” I tell them.

“This looks like one of the colonists,” Shepard says, trying to find an opening. “Wait… what the hell?”

One by one we hear a dull thunk further down the corridor. I see dragon’s teeth poking through… the pods.

_Oh no._

“They’re turning into those fucking zombie things!” Jack yells.

“Get these pods open!” I shout. “Zaeed, Thane, cover us!”

We pull down pods from the wall, hoping to pry them off before the spikes impale them. Shepard and Grunt smash open the lids while Tali and Kasumi try to override locks. All the while the aware, panicking faces of the abducted burn in my mind. All the while, Thane and Zaeed pick off husks that look too human for my tastes. Too much like civilians, not enough like Reaper shock troops.

“Y-you… came,” Chakwas groans out, freed from a pod. “Thank you.” She collapses in Samara’s arms.

“Mordin, Miranda! See what you can do for them!” Shepard yells, eyes glazed over and enraged.

We half-drag, half-carry the liberated humans further back as another wave of husks emerge from the pods. We can hold them, we’ve seen worse, but with these civilians it’s going to get messy.

“Shepard, we need to get them out of here!” I yell.

“Agreed, but they’re dead if they go back the way we came!”

“They’re dead here!” I insist.

She bares her teeth underneath her visor. “Fuck,” she mutters. “They’ll need an escort. And medical attention.”

“Can provide both,” Mordin says. “Normandy safer for crew, can treat injuries there.”

“Joker I need a status update. Can we handle a pick-up yet?”

“We have enough systems back online to do a pickup, but we’d need to land back from your position.”

“Escort it is,” she grumbles. “But down a medic. Mordin, you and Samara get them to safety. Anyone who can carry the other, do so like your life depended on it.”

Left unsaid is that their lives _do_ depend on it.

“Joker, need location of landing zone,” Mordin announces into his omni-tool. “Will meet you there.”

We cover the retreating crowd against the husks, and I thank every battle spirit I can think of that Samara pulls up a barrier against the throng. As soon as the last civilian rounds the corner, we cut loose. The atrium lights up with a wild clash of bullets and biotics. As we dispatch one husk, and another, it dawns on me what the true purpose of this base is.

The Reapers are raising an army. And judging from the amount of pods, they were nowhere close to done.

“We’ve got to stop them,” I growl into the comm.

“No shit, Garrus,” Shepard mutters back. “No shit.”  


**Shepard**

The seeker swarms buzzing around our barrier is almost as dizzying as the barrage of insults Jack’s tossing around. I know we’ve all got our breaking point, and that we hit our limit on nightmare fodder, but goddamn I wish a mute button worked in this helldive.

With our crew secure, the only thing left is turn this base into one big galactic stain. This means navigating to the drive core, delivering EDI’s cyberwarfare love letter to the central power units, then running as fast as our feet can carry us. Miranda’s words weren’t lost on me. It took the right kind of crazy to even attempt this mission. The Illusive Man, no matter what his motives are now, was right all along. It had to be me.

Whether that meant a part of him was still there, still fighting as Saren had in the end, is irrelevant. Destroying this base will put a dent in the Reaper forces.

We make our final push to the central chambers with Collector forces hot on our backsides. The tiny biotic’s on her last legs, but she’s got this look on her face that I’ve only ever seen on angry mothers. I have a feeling we really _should_ be feeling sorry for the Collectors now.

“Get through those fucking doors!” she shouts at us.

Kasumi and Tali race ahead, onmi-tools glowing. The rest of us go through the doors Alliance retreat style; suppressing fire, two fall back, suppressing fire, two more retreat. Two by two like Noah’s firefight. Before long it’s us, and before I can scream out…

She drops the barrier.

“Get out of there!” A voice calls out. My voice.

And for a second all I see is blue.

“Let’s move, Shepard!” I see a tattooed arm grab me.

The doors slam behind us, and it doesn’t take a salarian scientist to know we’re just outside the core.

“You’ve been holding out on us, princess.”

I can’t believe we’re actually here.

“Bite me Massani, or I’ll haul your ass back in there.”

Humans weren’t the only target. They were never the only target. This place is _ancient_ with species long gone, and this cycle’s just the tip of the iceberg. So many races I don’t recognize, and never will because they’re a mockery of what they used to be.

Entire civilizations. Replaced by tech.

I look around in a daze. The walls are a gallery of destruction. Dragon’s teeth, pods, tubes, wires. All embedded like a network, like a shitty creepy mix of organic and synthetic. And far in the distance, likely the center, some pulsing mass that sets my teeth on edge. Must be the power core.

“Listen up, people,” I say sharply. “We’re blowing this thing sky high then running like hell. We came here to do a job, and we’re sure as shit gonna finish it with style.” I do a couple of test jumps and crack my neck. _This is always the hard part, V._

“I gotta say, I feel sorry for the Collectors.” I scan the faces of my crew, each one eager, ready and determined. “I’ve seen you guys do the impossible. And when we paint the sky with this place, we’re gonna keep doing the impossible. You guys are top-tier. Crème de la crème.” A smile stretches across my face as I say, “now let’s burn this motherfucker down.”

**~*~**

Flying platforms. Ugly-ass brain things. Harbinger, the glow worm from hell. It wouldn’t really be a proper showdown without all these assholes here. Their resistance is much, much stronger and stinks of desperation that only comes with defeat. These guys know what’s coming to them, and now they feel it.

The platforms split apart, ruining our tactical advantage and forcing us to separate. Garrus and Miranda run ahead, Tali and I following close behind. The rest of the murder squad will have to take a page from Kirrahe’s School of Badassery and hold that damn line.

I duck behind cover. With the main power unit in sight, and clear what we need to do. We dispatch the rest of the Collector forces ahead of us, then take a breather to access.

“This is it, you guys,” I say. “Ground team can you read me?” I patch into my comm.

“Jack here. We’re tagging as they come, but feel free to call for an exit _any_ time.”

“Now’s as good a time as any. Joker, do you read?”

“Loud and clear, Commander. We’re back online and ready to bug out as soon as you give the word.”

“Affirmative. EDI, Tali and I are set to give you access to the power core. Deliver the payload and count us down.” I signal to Tali to head towards one of the consoles while I sprint to the other.

“Uh Commander? I’m getting an incoming message from the Illusive Man. Want me to patch it through?” Joker asks.

I exchange a glance with Miranda. Her jaw is tense and eyes narrow, like she’s broadcasting a warning to me. With a quick breath I say, “let’s see what he wants.”

Miranda pulls up the holo on her omni-tool. Within seconds visual of Jack Harper comes up, and knowing the truth behind those damn glowing eyes I can’t help but see red.

“Shepard. You’ve done the impossible.”

“I’m not done yet,” I say with false cheer. “In ten minutes this place is getting the Jackson Pollock treatment.”

“Wait. I have a better option. I’m looking at the schematics EDI uploaded. A timed radiation pulse would kill the remaining Collectors, but leave the machinery and technology intact. This is our chance, Shepard. They were building an army. That knowledge could save us.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking. You want to _keep_ this place?”

“Don’t be short-sighted. Our best chance against the Reapers is to turn their own resources against them.”

“No,” Miranda asserts. “The risks of using this place far outweighs the benefits. Everything here is a potential danger that can backfire if used improperly.”

“Besides that, I’ve only ever seen one successful Cerberus operation,” I reply. “And from the looks of it, we just went rogue.”

“Miranda,” he says, stress in his voice. “Do not let Shepard destroy the base! That’s an order!”

“Sorry Harper, I didn’t read that last command,” she says with an easy smile and a near perfect impression of my voice. “Getting a lot of bullshit on this channel.” She cuts the feed.

I gape at her. “Did you just–”

“I did,” Miranda says, and swear if she doesn’t have the smuggest look on her face. “Perhaps your horrid language rubbed off on me. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe we’ve got a ride to catch.”

_The bullet. I’m eating it._

“Couldn’t agree more. Tali, let’s light em up.”

Tali and I work double-time on the consoles while Miranda and Garrus place the detonators. With EDI’s virus, we’ll have temporary control of all security and maintenance protocols. From there, putting the base in meltdown is easy, but it’ll also trigger the detonators just in case. I set the timer for ten minutes. Ten minutes to open those damn doors, gun down everything in our path, and get the hell out of here.

“It’s done. Let’s go, people!”

We sprint across the platforms and burst through the doors. Sure enough the welcome committee is in full force. Husks surround the opening along with the full Reaper freak show of Scions, Praetoreans, and some shit I’ve _never_ seen before.

Four against six hundred. And mine not to reason why.

“We need to clear a path!” Garrus shouts. “Shepard, shield up and rush them then overload your armor! Miranda, push as many of them back as you can with your biotics. Tali, draw them off to the side with that damn drone of yours.”

“Her _name_ is Chatika.”

“The man’s got a plan,” I say, popping in a new heat sink.

_Time to see it through._

**  
Garrus**

Turians don’t exactly retreat. We don’t duck either, but after Omega I’ve been willing to amend that rule. We’re born and raised under the hard rule to eliminate the enemy at all costs. If there’s even one good guy left standing, then we call it a victory.

But I’ve never been a very good turian.

The tactics I laid out are only meant to repel the forces while we get the hell out of here. As I gun down these damn abominations, I’m forced to ignore Hierarchy training and trust that the bombs will take care of whatever’s left standing.

But I check the timer on my omni-tool, less than four minutes now, and I worry that we’ll be taken care of right along with them.

“Keep moving!” Shepard shouts from behind.

We finally see the makeshift landing zone ahead. I sprint towards it, shouting at the women to hurry. A figure emerges from the airlock, giving us the suppressing fire we need. And I’d swear my visor was malfunctioning… Joker?

I hop in first, followed closely by Miranda. Tali scrambles in just in time.

“Oh shit!” Joker yells.

“Shepard! I shout.

Behind her, a Praetorean fires off a white-hot beam. She rolls to the side and fires off biotic orbs.

 _“The problem wasn’t him_ liking _me, it was trying to save me…”_

_“There’s a time when a woman fights her own battle.”_

_Screw that._

I grab the rocket launcher and line my shot.

_C’mon, Shepard._

The beam digs into the ground, splitting the platform. She’s up, sprinting again.

I fire. The Praetorean falls back, but the damage is done. The platform breaks off and she leaps. I feel my chest sink. It’s too short. She’s not gonna make it. She’s not gonna–

 She latches onto the edge, and I can’t move fast enough to drag her inside. And blame it on the near death, or how an exploding Praetorean lights up her eyes, but _damn_ if there isn’t something about her smile.

“You did it,” I say, relief in my voice.

“No. _We_ did it with style. Joker, get us the hell out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protheans were the name of the one collective galactic community. They consisted of different races unified under one rule.


	35. The Price of Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard successfully lead her crew through the Collector base. That's it, right?

**Shepard**

I lay out booze on the mess counter-tops and gather glasses. We just survived a mission to end all missions, and I damn well intend to celebrate with my crew.

“Alright, everybody!” I yell. “We did what everyone thought was impossible. We did it for the good of the galaxy, whether they know it or not. Tonight the drinks are on the Illusive Man, may he rot in fucking hell.”

The crew erupts in shouts.

“Tonight,” I continue. “We are goddamn heroes. We are goddamn warriors!” I grin as Grunt pounds his fists in response. “And we! Are goddamn! Alive!”

“Fuck yeah!” Jack yells, rushing out of the medbay. “I don't know about you assholes, but after holding up that damn bubble I'm getting shithoused!”

Jacob follows her out, clapping me on the back as he goes. Behind him is Miranda, composed as always, except that just a few hours ago she was anything but. And Zaeed stays behind with Dr. Chakwas with an oddly endearing look in his eyes.

“You did great, Shepard,” Miranda intones. “Admittedly, I didn't think we could pull this off. Not without losses.” She looks away briefly. “I’m… impressed. It makes me think that part of The Illusive Man was still there. That he was onto something when we began all… this.” She stares at Samara conversing with Thane, then turns back to me. “This doesn’t matter now, of course. He isn't going to be happy about our defection. If he never had our best interests at heart before, I can’t imagine…”

I notice her clinching her fists, and despite her exhaustion I can sense the familiar prickles of a biotic flare. “Hey,” I say, putting an arm on her shoulder. “What’s done is done, and it took guts. We can’t risk any liabilities, not with the Reapers out there. And we did what we set out to do, no casualties. That’s a pretty good day in my book.” I smirk, and the smile fades as I say, “it took guts. Thank you.”

She nods faintly. “It was only a good day given your love of pyrotechnics.” She smiles at that, then walks over to the makeshift bar. “Shepard. Given what we know, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself now.”

I shrug. “Anything you want, remember? You _know_ what's coming, and I know you got priorities. Keep her safe, and use those talents for the Reapers.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right,” Miranda says. She pours a coping mechanism-sized glass of asari wine. “But for now, here's to the Illusive Man. For giving me the best job I've ever quit.”

“To the Illusive Man,” I call back. “If the lung cancer doesn't get him, my bullet will!”

Kasumi shimmers into view, grabbing a drink. “No one kills him until I rob that bastard blind.” She grins at me. “Shep, we did it.”

“We did, and as you humans put it, it was a cakewalk.” Garrus flicks a mandible at me as he swaggers toward us. “First Saren, now the Collectors? Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Keep firing your big gun like you did earlier and you never will,” I reply, pouring a drink.

“Damn, Shep,” Kasumi says, cloaking out. “I _did_ say live a little.”

Heat creeps through my cheeks. “Oh for the love– I meant the damn Thanix cannons!”

Miranda raises a brow at me while Garrus couldn’t look smugger if he tried.

“Fucking hate living on ships,” I mutter.

“I’m glad that for the moment you do,” Miranda quips. “The Normandy is in an obvious state of disrepair. I took the liberty of coordinating maintenance work on Omega. We’re in route now and should arrive in a couple of hours.”

“Noted,” I reply, grateful for the change of subject. “Good work, Miranda.”

“Now whatever you do during that time is up to you,” she says craftily, eyeing us before sauntering away.

_Mutiny._

I sigh, then turn to Garrus. And it’s clear from the way his mandible twitches that he’s trying really hard to suppress a shit eating grin over the whole thing. I shake my head and smile.

“You know,” he starts. “We _did_ save some lives.”

“That we did,” I reply. I smile at him, but the way he’s leering at me, completely failing at holding in his smile. Just what is so damn funny? Wait…

“Oh my lord. You really are the one turian that thinks he’s funny.” I jab his chest.

“It’s not the worst policy,” he says, laughing. Garrus leans in a little closer and I can just feel his subharmonics. “In fact, saving lives and reaping the uh… _benefits_ is a damn good policy.”

I barely stifle a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. C’mon, let’s celebrate, then we can… _celebrate_ ,” I say with a wink.

**~*~**

By the time we dock, I see half the crew passed out from exhaustion or inebriation. The rest are still at it in the mess, drinking and singing old songs. I pass through for a snack just as Mordin and Ken finish up a slurred rendition of Amazing Grace.

I see Tali emerge from crew quarters as I head back toward the lift. “Had enough of the party?” I ask.

“I don’t know about you,” she says, shaking her head, “but I needed some sleep before I even _think_ about replacing drive cores.”

“We all earned a rest after today,” I reply. And while I can never hope to be as good as reading body language as a quarian, there was something about how Tali was shifting back and forth. “What’s eating you?”

“That obvious, huh?” She slumps, looking downright dejected. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I should have gone with you back on Freedom’s Progress. If I did… sometimes I wonder if. If they’d still be alive.”

I motion to her and we sit, backs against the smooth, chilly walls. I can hear Ken in the mess starting up a bawdy song, swearing it’s the anthem of his people. Tali shifts a little beside me, still fidgeting, after all this time.

“And even after that,” she continues, “you saved my life, and helped me with my trial… Shepard… keelah, I’m sorry.”

“Whoa there.” I’m not sure even now if quarians can cry, but I’m sure as hell not about to find out. “It’s alright. You did the right thing when it counted. Always have. And you saved our asses more than a few times.” I sigh. “People die. It sucks. But you can’t stop being better for them. If you stop…”

_You just fail all over again._

Tali shudders, and pulls her feet in. “I think I understand. But Shepard, I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I wave a hand. “As I recall, your options at the time were your people’s mission and a loudmouth ghost. Only an insane person would sign on with no hesitation.”

“Garrus did.”

_Not sure if that contradicts my statement._

“Yeah well,” I mumble.

“Shepard, I mean it. And I know this comes at a bad time saying it, but I _am_ sorry.”

I nod. The elevator doors open, and we watch as a couple more crewmen stumble towards the crew quarters. I’m not sure why she’s getting this sudden guilt streak, but this isn’t like Tali. Sure, when she left on Freedom’s Progress without me, it hurt at first, but she joined up in the end. She was there for me. But something about what she said nags at me, and I can’t help but recall a sad angry blue face, lamenting bad timing.

“What comes at a bad time?”

She fidgets her hands, head ducked. “At some point I need to go back to the fleet. I need to rally them against the Reapers. You _saw_ what we destroyed. If they’re caught blind my entire race could be wiped out.”

I sigh and lean further against the back wall. “Yeah.”

“And right now, we’re a mess. We just lost an Admiral. And some still can’t let go of old wounds.” She clunks her head against the wall. “There’s too few of us to fight the geth, Shepard. There’s too many of them, and even if we got our planet back…” She sighs. “I have to go back.”

I nod. “I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I reply. “We should all be doing the exact same thing. It’s just…” I trail off. It’s just like old times, really. Though not all of it was good or nostalgic. After we defeated Saren, we celebrated like any crew should. But a lot of us parted ways. Tali went back to her people then too, and while it was expected it didn’t make me miss her any less.

“Just what?” she asks.

“It’s nothing.” I lie. Gotta keep it together at least for her sake. “Give ‘em hell when you get back, Tali’Zorah vas Normandy.”

“Always, Shepard.”

**Garrus**

“At some point we will have to leave the cabin, Shepard,” I say, rolling over beside her.

There were too many hull breaches and damaged systems to risk going through a mass relay again, and part of me is grateful for not taking the risk. There’s something to be said about living in the moment, without the weight of countless lives bearing down our shoulders. For once it feels like it’s really just us. Damn. How did we even get here?

“Dunno about that. There’s plenty of rations in here, so food’s covered. We still have that wine you brought up, so we’re set there. I still have the extranet, some ships to build, and Hambo, so entertainment’s covered,” she says, pointing at the deplorable rodent she purchased on impulse.

“You realize you can’t eat on rations and wine alone,” I say dryly. “Besides, we still need to oversee repairs, do a final walkthrough, and–”

“Alright, I know.” She waves me off. “No rest for the wicked, I get it.” She climbs out of bed and starts to look for her clothes. I reach for her wrist and pull her back to the bed.

“You _just_ said–”

“I know.” I grin at her. “Doesn’t matter.”

She rolls her eyes and grins back at me. “Insubordinate ass.”

“You love it.”

And the way she looks at me now, the weight of what I said hits me. We more or less discussed what we were, but not what we’re becoming. And now I’m worried all over again about whether I’ve crossed another invisible human line or if I’ve offended or…

And she touches her forehead to mine. Oh.

“Maybe I do,” she says, sliding her hands behind my neck. I groan appreciatively. If she keeps going, then we’re _definitely_ not going to leave anytime soon.

“Commander, I’ve got a priority message coming in for you,” Joker announces over the comm.

“And just like that, it’s back on the clock,” Shepard grumbles. “Who is it this time?”

“…Alliance HQ.”

Two words. Two words and she gets those damn dead eyes. And logically I know it’s only seconds, but those seconds stretch out like an event horizon. Dammit.

“Patch it through,” she says, all voice and no emotion. She looks at me briefly, apologetically, then touches my hand and heads toward her desk. There’s static interfering, obvious since we’re trying to repair the damn ship. By the time EDI cleans up the signal, and I hear Shepard say the words ‘Admiral Hackett,’ I’m out the door.

**~*~**

It’s about three and a half days later that I see her off on whatever errand Hackett requested. Alone, which is unusual for her, even considering the changes I’ve seen over this past year. The only times she’d done this was for Zanethu, and just recently Alchera.

She’d taken the shuttle while we were dry-docked, face stony when she left and even more emotionless when she came back.

_“Hey. How’d it go?” I ask._

_“Eh, you know. The usual. Sad as hell. Cold. Perfect little place for a morgue.”_

I remember her dropping her old helmet on her desk along with a scattered array of dog tags. She didn’t talk about it for the rest of the night, and gave no hint of wanting to. She just stared into the glass of wine she held, biotics flickering sporadically.

I’d taken to chatting with Joker during her absence, both of us filling the void between waiting on her and pointedly not speculating about the message from the Alliance. Deep down we know there’s something more to the ‘pick-up’ she mentioned. We realized that when the hours turned into a day, when Miranda paced through the CIC on day two, and when Tali snapped at the engineers about twenty minutes ago.

Joker and I are both on the bridge when we hear her voice over the comm, steady but edging on panic.

“Shepard to Normandy. Joker, do you read me?” she shouts through the crackle.

“Loud and clear, Commander.” Joker turns to the blue avatar. “EDI, clean this up, wouldja?”

“We need to get out of this system ASAP,” Shepard continues. “Sending my location for pick-up.”

“Roger that, Commander.” Joker updates the navigation on his console, then glances at me puzzled. “What the hell is she doing out there?”

“What do you mean?” I peer over his shoulder. She’s in the asteroid belt, dangerously close to the relay.

“Guess that explains the radio silence,” he mutters.

“No. It doesn’t,” I say flatly. “What the hell was she up to?”

We gun it for the asteroid belt, and if I hadn’t already appreciated the man’s flying skills from Ilos or the Omega 4 entry, I would’ve been impressed now. Asteroid belts are always a pain to maneuver through, but with the way he shifts with ease, I’d never know the difference.

Before long we find the distress signal, and close in on a small facility.

“It’s moving out of orbit,” Joker comments. “Shepard, Normandy inbound for pick-up.”

“Roger that,” we hear over the comm.

Minutes later she storms through the airlock, snatching off her helmet in the process. “Joker, get us out get us out get us out!” she shouts.

She rushes through the CIC only to stand at the galaxy map, face screwed tight in an expression I’ve never seen her wear. We jump through the relay, but she doesn’t look relieved. As I approach her, she looks up briefly but it’s clear it’s not really me she’s looking at.

When I look down, the system we departed from glows red on the screen, then goes dark.

**Shepard**

Three hundred thousand. More than that, really. Three hundred and four thousand, nine hundred and forty-two. And even then, more than that. No one ever counts the slaves when it comes to batarians. They didn’t count them for Torfan, and I doubt there’s an updated census on them now.

Oh wait, there is.

Zero.

As usual, a ‘simple’ mission had a way of going tits up. It was a feeling I couldn’t shake off ever since I got the call from Hackett. God love the man, but Christ does he send me into some shit. If he only knew then what he was asking of me…

And on top of that I had to kill the very person I was supposed to rescue. His _friend_.

One more to the tally I guess.

There’s not even a rock and a hard place in this scenario. The rock is the imminent Reaper threat I can only pray I delayed, and the hard place is setting off yet another fucking galactic incident with the batarians. As if we need a damn war. No, the hard place is living through another round of avoiding press, hiding behind rank, silent stares from my mom.

No, the hard place is that I _need_ the Alliance again, now more than ever.

The hard place is that maybe Kaidan was right about _some_ of the things he said back on Horizon.

I sit in the medbay, feet dangling off the raised table. It makes me feel so nostalgically child-like, waiting for Chakwas’ verdict on exactly how crazy I am this time. Waiting for whatever’s worse than a court-martial, if I’m even tried as Alliance anymore. Waiting’s always been the worst part.

I hear the familiar hiss of the sliding doors. _Finally._ Dr. Chakwas slips in briefly conversing quietly with Hackett. Softly enough that I can’t make out everything, but my augmented hearing picks up on ‘stressed,’ ‘capable,’ ‘Reapers.’

She then glances at me, same sad world-weary eyes, and exits the medbay. Leaving me alone with Hackett.

At the end of the day, there’s only four people in the Alliance that can scare the shit out of me to the point that I see God. My mom always took the first slot; nothing like a dress-down from hell while she disassembles a Lancer. Anderson was a no-brainer; hell I _still_ idolize the man. But now?

Now the other two people are right in this room.

The man cuts a figure as sharp as his blue-eyed stare. He’s seen his fair share of fights. No admiral hasn’t, but he wears his fights clear as day from the way he walks, light but fierce like a bird of prey. From the way his scar cuts across his lip and cheek, making even a smile seem dangerous. And from the tired concerned look on his face when he takes me in. A different kind of fight entirely.

“Looks like you recovered,” he says, not unkindly.

“Admiral Hackett,” I stand, saluting.

“At ease, Shepard. It sounds like you went through hell down there. How are you feeling?”

_Like a bag of smashed asshole if you’re looking for honesty._

“Fine. No lingering effects from the Rho device if that’s what you mean.” I give him a level look. “I wasn’t expecting to debrief here.”

“I owed at least that,” he replies wearily. “At least that was my thought before the mass relay exploded and took out an entire batarian system. What the hell happened down there?” he asks, glaring at me.

I wince inwardly at his change in tone.

“Because all I know,” he continues, “I sent you out there to _covertly_ get Amanda Kenson out of batarian custody, and now an entire mass relay is destroyed. Can you fill in the leap of logic there?”

I sigh and steel myself. “Taking out the relay was Kenson’s original plan. Destroying it would delay the Reapers. That was before indoctrination took hold. By the time I got to her, she said the Reapers were our salvation. She captured me, sedated me. When I escaped, she wasn’t willing to stop the invasion. I was.”

“That’s… a damn shame.” He sighs and looks at the datapad I supplied him. “And you believe the Reaper threat was imminent?”

“I never _stopped_ believing that,” I reply tersely. “But… in this case, yes. Their data on the ‘Project Rho’ device looked sound. Their intel suggested that we only had minutes to spare.”

“Then you did what you had to do. But Shepard.” He frowns. “This doesn’t look good. We don’t want war with the batarians, not if what’s in here is true.” He holds up the datapad. “There’s enough evidence here for a witchhunt, and with you as the prime suspect–”

“Then why send _me?_ ” I shout. “Why!? You _know_ my record, they _know_ what I’ve done. Sending me out there was a bigger act of war than anything Kenson was doing.”

“Because I knew I could count on you,” he says.

I hang my head and sigh. “Starting to find that hard to believe, sir.”

“You can believe whatever you want. I’ve trusted you to get the job done before, and I trust you now. You’re an exemplarity soldier. Always have been, always will be.”

I still at that, and look at the admiral. “…Will be, sir?”

“Evidence against you is shoddy at best. But at the end of the day you will have to come back to Earth and face the music.”

I begin to pace. What does he want from me? Probably the exact same thing Kaidan said before. Go back to the Alliance, turn myself in. Get tested for any Cerberus bugs or implants that I don’t already know about. Mental testing. Christ I don’t need this.

Except, I do need them. I know it. The Alliance needs to be ready even if I have to drag them kicking and screaming. So they also need me. But if he’s saying what I think he’s saying, then…

“So a scapegoat,” I say bitterly. “Jesus, I know what’s at stake, I get it. But what you’re asking of me… it’s bullshit, sir.”

“What choice do you have, Commander?” Hackett asks, eyes narrowing. “If it were only up to me, you’d get a damn medal. But it’s not.”

As I stare him down, my mind flashes back to the tunnel networks on Torfan and the dozens of hearings afterward. To Darius, a minor negotiation mission turned sour as soon as ‘bitch’ flew out his mouth. To finding out later that Hackett _wanted_ him gone. To the Reaper data gathered from the suicide mission. And then to a VS written in blood on a fellow Spectre’s chestplate.

_Not today._

“No,” I say. “The only hearing I want any part of is how to defeat the Reapers. Anything else is a distraction.” I grip the side of the table and try to concentrate. “The batarians will want blood. We can’t give them that, but ‘jailing’ me is out of the question. We tell the Alliance the truth.”

“What are you getting at?” he asks sharply.

I give the Admiral my thousand-yard stare. “Amanda Kenson, while admirable, planned and performed an act of terrorism in batarian space.” A perverse, small smile passes my face. “You made the call for me to capture her so that she can be tried by the Alliance for her actions. I got there too late.”

And just like that I can see the wheels turning in his head. He rubs his chin, eyes alternating between looking down at the datapad and giving me an undiscernible glare. He sets the datapad on the table and turns his back toward me.

“There’s no footage from your suitcams that place you in the batarian prison,” he says curtly. “You went directly to the facility set up on the asteroid. When you arrived, Kenson had already broken out of the prison.”

At that he turns back to me, still giving me a hard unnerving look. “After all, they can’t very well go back and fingerprint.” He points at the datapad. “Make it so. I _will_ expect you to be in your dress blues within a reasonable timeframe.”

“Understood.” I pick the datapad back up. “Admiral,” I start. “If I may, I have a request.”

“Name it.”

I steel myself. “I want immunity for everyone on this vessel. Cerberus, ex-Alliance, all of them. They worked under my command on their own free will. It’s the least I can do for them.”

Warmth comes back in his eyes as he appraises my words. “I think we can manage that. I was more concerned with what we do with you in the meantime.”

“Sir?”

“We’ve been getting your missions reports from Dr. T’soni, Commander. The Alliance hasn’t been as idle as you think. While you were out there flying Cerberus colors, we’ve been mobilizing. We couldn’t risk any leaks, so we left you in the dark. It felt wrong, but it was necessary.” He lets a ghost of a smile cross his face as he reaches in his breast pocket. “But now that you’ve cut ties, I can say that you’ve got a role to play yet.”

He pulls out a scratched, but polished pair of dog tags. The same ones I received after gaining Spectre status from the Council, a custom job since I was the first to earn the rank. The same ones I thought were lost forever, even when I searched for them on Alchera.

_After all this time._

As he places them in my hand he says, “Come home, Shepard. That’s an order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kenneth knows a lot of traditional rugby songs, and of course, he and Mordin both know all the words to Amazing Grace.


	36. Much More Than a Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Normandy crew part ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is the penultimate chapter! Thank you all so much for reading and following this story! It meant so much that other people enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Be on the look out for my next story, which will cover Mass Effect 3 [kind of!].**

 

**Garrus**

We set a slow and easy course, riddled with stops along the way. Call it Shepard’s final act of subtle defiance. Or perhaps saying goodbye is harder than she’s been letting on.

Because it sure as hell isn’t easy for me.

I try to distract myself with some code upgrades to my omni-tool, but even that’s proving pointless and makes me miss Tali. We said our farewells to her back on Omega, and the ship felt emptier for it. The Migrant Fleet was a system over, so it only made sense. But then, she always was the one who felt closest with her people.

I punch in a sequence. Last in, first out. Fitting in a way.

The geth, Legion was the next one to go. It insisted that we could just leave ‘the mobile unit’ at a nearby designated drop zone. And as much as I understand machinery, there’s something about geth that I’ll never comprehend. But still, he was a good ally. Shot straight and never aimed its gun at us. More than I can say for any other geth we encountered.

And some people for that matter.

It’s the loss of those two that bothers me. She’s really done it. Whatever happened out there was enough to have Admiral Hackett himself come aboard. Enough to have her unfold a fresh set of dress blues, hanging even now in her cabin, taunting us.

Enough to have her look at a pair of well-used dog tags with red eyes.

I was this close to hating the man on the spot. She hasn’t said anything but I have no doubt in my mind that the Admiral forced her hand. Seeing her face twisted and distraught like that. It was the worst I’d ever seen.

Sighing, I close down my program and leave the battery. There’s no sense in avoiding this, and she always seemed to find her ‘egg shells’ important. I try to think about what to even say, or what I _want_ to say in the elevator. Adjectives fail me; all I can think of is ‘crappy,’ ‘unfair,’ ‘devotion.’

…Maybe not best to lead in with that one.

When I open the doors to her cabin, I find her sitting on the floor with model ship pieces scattered across the table. A defense drone hovers overhead, helpfully concentrating light on her hands. At the sound of my footfall she looks up, eyes out of focus for a second before settling on my face.

“Hey big guy,” she says, smiling faintly.

“Hey yourself,” I respond, making my way to the couch. Silence hangs in the air as I watch her return focus back to the ship parts. She snaps and glues pieces into place in a slow and steady rhythm. And spirits guide me, but I still have no idea what to say.

Finally, I ask, “What’s whitewashing?”

She stops moving and looks at me incredulously. “What?”

“It was something you said a long time ago. I never understood the phrase.”

Her eyes look to the side, confused but lost in thought. “It uh, depends I guess? Technically it means painting something white. Like fences.” She shrugs. “In the context I probably used, I might’ve meant covering up the truth, making something appear nicer than what’s underneath. Sugarcoating.”

It’s my turn to look incredulous. “Sugarcoating.”

“Yeah, it’s like…” She blinks at me. “ _This_ is what’s on your mind?”

“Yes. Well, no. But in a way.” I sigh and look across at the fish. “It was one of those things I had meant to ask but didn’t. And then you died, so I couldn’t. And now you’re…” I trail off.

“Yeah.” She sets down a piece and moves toward the couch. She sinks in beside me and she’s close enough that I can feel the slight, too-cool tingles of biotic friction, and smell remnants of coffee and ozone. I pull her in closer and stroke along her neck and hairline. Not an overt come-on like it would be for females of my species, but Shepard found it a comfort all the same.

“Ever think of what it would be like if the Reapers didn’t exist?” I ask.

“That’s a better question, I guess.” She sinks further into me, and I can feel her muscles relax. “I’d probably still be a Spectre. The Battle of the Citadel wouldn’t have happened. Not sure if I’d have met you. We definitely wouldn’t have this.” She takes my free hand in hers.

“I guess that’s one thing we have to thank the Reapers for,” I say dryly.

She lets out a harsh laugh. “Somehow I don’t think matchmaking was what they had in mind.”

Silence fills the cabin again.

I look down at the woman, and blame it on the way that her shoulders sag and her body shakes, but something about her makes me want to hold her just a little tighter. And for all that she said that I was here for her, right now I feel useless. She’s leaving and there’s nothing I can do about it.

And deep down I don’t want to let go.

“Will I see you again?” I ask. There’s no answer that will satisfy me, but I have to ask anyway.

“I hope so,” she sighs. “But whatever project Hackett hinted at will have me running dark. So… I don’t know.”

“He didn’t say anything?” I feel her shake her head. “If you knew, would you even be able to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head again.

“And you won’t tell me what happened out there,” I state tersely.

“I can’t,” she replies, and there’s some level of regret in her voice. “The deal I struck is precisely because you have no prior knowledge. None of you did. I don’t want to saddle you with this shit, Garrus. You’re not the walking war crime, remember?”

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m not some fringe-biting whelp that needs to hide behind a hero,” I drawl. “And on top of that you’re shutting me out.”

“Oh come off it, Vakarian.” She disengages from me. “Like this is even the first time. And as far as shutting _me_ out, you were a goddamn pro at first. At least I have a reason not to tell you anything.”

I look away, the fish suddenly more interesting than this conversation. “It… wasn’t easy to talk about.”

“This isn’t exactly a cakewalk,” she spits back.

 “Yeah.” I reach for her again. Something about what she said pulls at me, and I can’t help but wonder one last thing. “Shepard,” I start. “Why’d you shoot Sidonis?”

“Because I’m a Spectre,” she replies. “We have a way of halting investigations, remember?”

A flash of a memory hits me like a shot to the chest.

_“Stall the council? Don’t be ridiculous. Your investigation is over, Garrus.”_

_I watch him leave, trying to hide how livid I feel. It would be so easy to just quit right here, right now. Officer’s son indeed. As I turn to leave the chambers I see three armored humans approach. The one in the middle, brown skin, cropped red… hair? Looks familiar. The batarian clean-up out on Torfan. The reports said she was involved._

_“Commander Shepard? Garrus Vakarian.”_

“Still with me? Went a little quiet there.” She twists back to look at me, concern on her face.

“Yeah. Just… thinking about old times.” I mull over what she said, and what she did. That she would do that… The C-SEC side of me, the side that still cared about righting wrongs, justice, and all those other crisp clean virtues should be pissed. Just as livid now as I was… damn, three years ago now.

But the other part of me, the part that somehow went from falling for to all-in… I’ve never been good with grey.

“So now _I’ve_ got a question,” she says. “A favor, really. Two.”

“Ask.”

“While I’m… gone. Do what you can out there, ok? And try to stay alive this time.” She reaches for my hand again and strokes between my fingers.

“That’s rich coming from you,” I reply.

“I mean it,” she says, eyes stern. “I don’t want… I just. I want so much more for you. Do whatever it takes. Make them listen. And don’t give up,” she finishes, hand coming up to touch the unscarred side of my face. “Please.”

How one word says so much from someone who rarely needs to say it baffles me. The fact that she’s asking me… not commanding in a firefight, not offering me a choice, but asking as though I hold all the cards. She keeps saying everyone else changed, but what about her?

“I will,” I promise, holding her a little tighter. “And the second?”

“Let’s… maybe forget for a while that I can’t promise you what we both want. Let’s have tonight.”

“Yeah,” I say. I duck my head to hers. “Yeah.”  


**Shepard**

We reach Hagalaz, and Miranda and I take the shuttle down to the now familiar frigate. Unlike the first time I boarded this ship, the doors slide open on verification, and the new set of guards give us curt nods. Almost like they’re ignoring us.

When we enter the central chamber, it’s clear that Liara added a few of her special touches. Feminine sweeping furniture, a couple of cheerful-looking plants, and her at her desk, the same one back on Illium.

It’s kind of adorable, really.

“Shepard,” she intones. “I’m so glad you came.” She takes in my companion. “Ms. Lawson.”

“Dr. T’soni,” Miranda responds in a clipped tone.

“You two really do know each other,” I say with a smirk.

“We’re acquainted,” Miranda replies.

Liara narrows her eyes and folds her arms. “You might say that the first stage of Project Lazarus was obtaining you, Shepard.” She turns to Miranda. “I can at least say that _you_ delivered on your promise,” she says, and the way she just said that… Christ, Liara used to be so _nice_.

“Of course I did,” Miranda replies airily. “And your intel regarding the Illusive Man was sound. I must commend you for that, Shadow Broker.”

“The intel was sent as a favor to Shepard,” Liara says. “You may have succeeded in bringing her back, but your mission was sabotaged from the beginning. I will not stand by and watch _my_ friend get compromised. Not with the threats we’re facing.”

“And I’ll have you know,” Miranda shoots back, “that the mission was an overwhelming success. Perhaps if you had a little more faith in Shepard’s abilities you’d have seen that for yourself.”

“And if I hadn’t tipped you off–”

“That’s actually why we’re both here,” I interject. “We’re officially defected. And whatever data you fed Hackett is enough for me to pay the piper. Meanwhile, we’re sitting on more talent than you could imagine.” I jut a thumb out toward the operative. “I was wondering if you could work something out.”

“ _I’m_ wondering if I can trust her,” Liara replies.

“I’m pretty sure that technically I owe both of you my lives,” I say flatly. “And it’s win-win. You’re both smart as hell, resourceful, and have skills the other can benefit from. Liara, you can’t be everywhere at once. Miranda, you’ve got a sister to keep off the grid. And more importantly you both know what’s at stake.”

I look from frost-blue eyes to sky-blue face. “We’ve all got our roles to play out here. We can’t afford to be idle. Do we have something or not?”

They both hesitate, giving me an uncertain look. Miranda composes herself first and holds out her hand.

“If you’ll have me, I look forward to working with you, Dr. Tsoni,” she says crisply.

“And I as well,” Liara replies clasping hands with Miranda.

“Good,” I say. I look at the two of them. They may not like each other, but if they can work together to stop the Reapers, then that’s all I can hope for.

“Well that was cute, but aren’t you forgetting someone?”

I turn towards the familiar voice, but see no one. “Laugh it up, Kasumi. You can come out now.”

The tiny woman shimmers into view with the smuggest look in the Terminus Systems. She saunters over toward the baffled asari and holds out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Shadow Broker. Kasumi Goto at your service.”

Liara looks at me sternly. “Shepard, what in the goddess–”

“Hey, not my idea,” I say, holding my hands up. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a bad one. She’s good at her craft. You know it, I’ve seen it, and Miranda vouches for her as well.” As I think about the benefits, something else crosses my mind. “And… huh. I guess we’re all kind of on the run these days, aren’t we?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kasumi says. “At least until I retire.”

“In our line of work? That’s nearly impossible,” Miranda mutters. “Dr. T’Soni, Ms. Goto’s skills are exemplary, and though I never thought I’d say this, I trust the little burglar completely.”

“Aww!” Kasumi says.

Liara looks at me, and I shrug back, giving her a shit-eating grin. She shakes her head and sighs. “Fine. But only because Shepard trusts you both. If you’ll follow me,” she beckons.

As we walk toward a wall of feeds, information, and raw data, I look at the thief, the operative, and the archeologist. If anyone told me that I’d be trusting a smug ice queen, a timid asari, and an art collector with the most sensitive data in the galaxy, I would have laughed in their faces. But now I can’t help but recall advice given to me in the middle of the night.

_We will get through this. We always do._

**Garrus**

“Any mercenary worth their salt gets cash up front, kid. If you ever go back in the vigilante business, you’ll do well to remember that.” We’re perched on the rooftop of one of Nos Astra’s many buildings, waiting idly as we refuel. For some of us, it might be the last stop.

“Vigilantism isn’t as lucrative,” Thane replies coolly as he passes the Mantis back to Zaeed. “But ultimately it improved my mental state.”

I take a sip from a custom gunmetal-colored flask that appeared in my weapon closet. It didn’t take much detective work to know where it came from. “I can safely say those days are behind me now. But in the end I don’t regret it. We did good work. Saved a few lives. Learned from it. The usual.”

“’Bout time you started talking sense, kid. Pull!”

Thane launches another bottle into the night sky. A second later we hear glass shatter. The veteran hands the sniper rifle to me as Thane preps another bottle.

“What do you mean ‘started?’” I nod to Thane and line my sight.

“What’s it sound like?” Zaeed winks at me. “You worked that stick out of your ass. Don’t sound like a depressing son of a bitch.”

I fire.

Glass shatters against the city lights, and I unload the spent thermo-clip. As I pass the rifle back to Thane, I can’t help but think of my old squad. In the end, they knew what they were fighting for. And now?

The Spectre was right about one thing. It _is_ a lot prettier here than on Omega.

“So what do you plan to do now?” I ask. “You apparently cashed out already, Vido’s dead, and Shepard’s going dark. Where’s that leave you?”

“Well I’m not retiring if that’s what you think,” he laughs roguishly. “Too much at stake now.”

“Agreed,” Thane says. “This was to be my last mission. But now I should pursue other good memories before I die. The Citadel has several, and there is time yet to make new ones.” He holds up the rifle and nods as I take another swig.

_That’s right, his son._

“What about you?” he asks calmly.

I pick up another bottle and toss it over the ledge. We’re rewarded a second later with a musical tinkling. I feel warm from the brandy, or maybe it’s getting to shoot something instead of nothing for weeks.

“Home,” I reply. “Back to Palaven. Visit family, try to do some good again.”

“Your dad’s a C-SEC man,” Zaeed says, taking a pull from his flask. “You alright with that?”

I consider his words. My father was nothing if by the book. And I know that Massani’s asking beyond what he’s saying. Am I really ready to go back? ‘Face the music’ as the humans would say?

Finally, I shrug. “I took on all the major gangs on Omega, took a rocket to the face, and helped destroy the Collector base.”

“And have a rogue varren for a girlfriend,” Zaeed interjects.

I take a swig. “The most vicious of varrens with the prettiest smile.” I grab the rifle from Thane. “If I can’t face my father after that, then what kind of a turian am I?”

“No kind at all, kid.” He grins back. “No kind at all.”

**Shepard**

“Those fucking morons are gonna get arrested,” Jack says looking up while she lights a cigarette.

“Not likely,” I scoff. “They’re more likely to black out up there.”

Even from the lower markets I can hear faint sharp cracks from the rooftops above. Overhead the city lights gleam with false cheer, with every billboard offering promises of fame, beauty and wealth. This is the galaxy we’re saving, whether they know it or not.

“Wait for it,” Jack says, taking another puff.

“What am I looking for?” I ask.

And then I see a perfectly large mugshot of our own ‘Jacqueline Nought.’

I shake my head and laugh. “Holy hell! Who’d you manage to piss off?”

“That was taken just before Purgatory. So everyone.” She grins. “Seems like forever ago. Guess I should find some other trouble to get into.”

“Nice.” I type an alert into my omni-tool. “Alright. No rest for the wicked. Let’s get them out of here before I have to invoke Spectre authority.”

“You got it, girl scout.”

**~*~**

Unlike the Presidium, the Wards were perpetual twilight; there were no billions spent on a day/night cycle, so the stars of the Serpent Nebula were always visible. Combine that with the lights from the five arms, and the traffic from ships coming and going all over the galaxy, and it’s a sight to behold.

The Citadel thinned out most of my crew. About five minutes ago, I bid farewell to all but Garrus and Jacob. Jacob decided he’ll go back to Earth with the rest of the ‘Ex-Alliance’ crew, while Garrus dragged his feet, insisting that he could delay passage to Palaven.

I didn’t blame him.

As I watch the last transport carry Mordin and Grunt away, I lean against the railing and Garrus joins me, taking my hand in his. We stand like that in a comfortable silence, his three fingers to my five, everything about him as blue as I am red. And for a second I falter. I’m _really_ going to miss him. Maybe Jack was right and we _should_ go pirate, try to working from a different angle, _something_ so that I don’t have to leave this.

But we can’t. Not with what we know. Not with what’s still out there.

“How much of a delay are you talking?” I ask the turian.

He doesn’t answer immediately, opting instead to lean against me, subharmonics taking over in a low, warm rumble. “I’ll manage, Shepard.”

We decide to wander around upper Bachjret, because that’s what people with time get to do. We don’t really say anything, either out of nothing to say or not wanting to ruin anything with words. We’ve always been bad at it, but action… action was something we could get behind.

And that action is walking beside a man I don’t want to leave. A man that I want to protect. A man I’m gonna really fucking miss.

“No communication whatsoever,” he muses. “Pretty raw deal, Shepard.”

“I know,” I say with a sigh.

“And me going back to Palaven. All alone,” he says, drawing out the words.

I roll my eyes. “I _know_.”

“What’s a turian to do with himself?” he laments.

I nudge him playfully. “Maybe think of me every now and then.”

He takes my hand his, and I look up at him. Pale blue eyes bore into me, still full of warmth, and something else that makes me want to fly away with him.

“I’ll do more than think of you, Shepard. Just promise that if you can,” he falters. “Stay alive out there.”

And I find my resolve. “That’s my line, if I recall.”

“Still mine,” he replies back. “And I mean it. I’m counting on you.”

I smile, and on impulse, pull him closer and touch my forehead to his, humming in that way he seems to like. And maybe we’re better with actions than words, but I feel better with him saying what words he can. Deep down I want to promise the world to him. Promise a house full of friends and family, dextro and levo charcuterie plates, and a gun rack that rivals the Blue Suns. 

But it’s all big thoughts and big words, and we’re leaving too soon to get into it. So I say instead, with a final embrace, “You always did bet on me, big guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack 'earned' the billboard shortly after accidentally kidnapping a freighter full of hanar priestesses. This hiccup eventually led to the act of vandalism.


	37. Epilogue - Ambition, Revisited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I'll likely update this story with a link to the new one.

**Garrus**

Turians and humans might not agree about trivial things like coming of age, handling disputes, or even how to save a life. But if I learned anything, it’s that something beyond a seamless integration could exist, even if for a brief moment. We all changed, before and after her resurrection, and I’d be a fool to measure how much. All I know is that something else changed the moment I flicked Veronica Shepard a turian salute, the moment I left for Palaven.

Gone was the turian too frustrated to become a Spectre. It was too much like following in her shadow, when she needed an equal. Gone was the failed C-SEC officer, living more for his father than himself. In a way, gone was Archangel. He was all action, not enough focus, and a depressing son of a bitch. And gone was the coward. The one who hid behind all those failures, and didn’t step up to be who he was meant to be.

The new person I became managed the impossible task of speaking with my father. Somehow, the combination of insurmountable evidence and visually quelling my personal feelings convinced the stoic man that maybe I was onto something. And in that moment I realized it wasn’t his approval I was looking for now. It was his help.

Which it turned out he was willing to give.

A long talk with him became lunch with Primarch Fedorian. That in turn became a lengthy proposal sent to all the Consuls across the colonies. Which then became a Reaper Task Force, headed by... me.

It isn’t quite enough to stop the Reapers, but every time I push, my father encourages it. And to my surprise uses every political doublespeak and systemic loopholes he can, asserting still that there’s a right way to do things.

And if he doesn’t question what I’d been up to for almost three years, or why I decline dates more often than not, then I don’t offer new intel.

And now, I realize what Shepard had hinted at all those times on the Normandy. Force when necessary, coerce when needed. Gain allies, garner trust, and piss people off.

And maybe, just maybe, yell loud enough until people see what all the fuss is about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garrus forgot that he never liked being set up for dates in the first place, but the fact that he dad stopped talking about it altogether was more noticeable.


End file.
